Love means never having to say you’re sorry for taking your wife to a diner for your 45th wedding anniversary.
So, sparing no expense for my beautiful bride, I took her to a pizza joint instead.
I admit that it wasn’t as romantic as returning to Hawaii, where Sue and I honeymooned, or going back to Barbados, where we celebrated 30 years of wedded bliss.
But at least I didn’t take my wife to the dump. That’s where we spent our anniversary three years ago.
We had to get rid of some logs from a tree that had been struck by lightning. It did not create sparks between us.
When Sue and I got to the landfill, I told the lady at the booth about our special day.
“It’s our anniversary and we’re spending it here,” I said.
“Well,” she responded, “it’s a unique way to celebrate.”
We had so much fun, we made two trips. Later, we toasted each other with boxed wine.
This is the kind of exciting life Sue and I have led since we were married on April 2, 1978.
It should come as no surprise to anyone who knows me and is willing to admit it, which narrows the field considerably, that I wanted to get married on April Fools’ Day. But Sue nixed the idea, probably because she didn’t want to get a whoopee cushion as a wedding gift.
Now, two children, five grandchildren and millions of stupid jokes later, I can honestly say that if it weren’t for Sue, I would be either dead or in prison. For putting up with me for so long, she deserves to be the first living person canonized by the Catholic Church. I deserve to be shot from a cannon.
So naturally, I wanted to do something nice for her on our 45th anniversary.
“How about a ring?” I asked, noting that the traditional gift is sapphire.
“That’s OK,” Sue said sweetly. “Save your money.”
“But you’re priceless,” I countered. “Besides, I found a blue stone in the backyard.”
Sue smiled.
“How about going on a trip?” I asked.
“Where?” she wondered.
“Home Depot,” I replied.
We have a bathroom project coming up, so it was an appropriate destination, even if they don’t have postcards.
When we got back home, I told Sue I wanted to take her out for our anniversary, which was a couple of days away.
We don’t go out to eat or even get takeout too often, but when we do, we patronize one of three places: the Chinese restaurant down the street, a nearby pizzeria or, of course, the diner.
“We could get deluxe cheeseburgers with the works,” I said.
“No,” said Sue. “We should go someplace special.”
We picked a new place that specializes in pizza but also has a menu featuring Italian dishes.
To prepare for the big event, I ironed a light blue, floral-patterned, long-sleeved shirt with a button-down collar and selected a nice pair of jeans and white sneakers, quite a change from my regular household ensemble of sweats and slippers.
“I’m getting dolled up just for you,” I told Sue, who looked, as always, lovely.
After we arrived at the eatery, I informed Joey, our server, that it was our 45th anniversary.
“Congratulations!” he said.
“My wife is a saint,” I remarked.
“I can see why,” Joey replied. “Would you like anything to drink?”
We each ordered a glass of wine.
“Happy anniversary!” Sue and I said to each other as we clinked glasses.
When it came time to order, Sue picked chicken marsala and I showed off my sophisticated palate by getting spaghetti and meatballs.
“It beats burgers and fries,” I noted.
Dinner was delicious. The bill came to $60.30.
“Thank you for taking me out for our 45th anniversary,” Sue said when we got home.
“You’re very welcome,” I responded with a kiss. “It was better than going to the dump.”
