Today is the anniversary of The Queen Of The World and my nuptials. Alas, I am on the road to TPA to fly to The Coast. Our celebration will wait until later this week, but I need to post my greatest love letter to her:
Seven years ago, The Queen Of The World and I were on a motorcycle trip to the beach. We'd only been dating a few weeks, and she was fun (and pretty as a picture), so off we went.
It ended in an accident. The bike went down fast, and hard. I broke a lot of bones and was in the ICU for days. Fortunately the fall didn't hurt her badly.
But I was the lucky one, because over the next few days I saw what an extraordinary woman she was. She arranged a rental car and trailer, got the bike loaded, and got the (very drugged up on pain killers) Borepatch home. And then took care of me for the weeks it took me to heal.
She could have run from a suddenly high maintenance (and often grumpy and rarely much fun) Borepatch. She didn't.
It was an unusual experience for me to be wrapped up in unconditional love and care. A nice experience. REALLY nice.
Unconditional, even when I was stubborn and dumb, like trying to get back in the saddle before I was capable, like trying to drive the manual shift Jeep with my arm in a sling. To this day I've never seen her as angry. She knew I would hurt myself, which I did. In her mind I was under her care, and I was messing myself up because of hard headedness. She hated to see me hurt myself.
And so I realized that I hadn't fallen three feet that day, I'd fallen hopelessly in love with an extraordinary woman. Sure she was fun (and pretty as a picture), but she also was fiercely loyal and had a spine of tempered steel. I didn't stand a chance, and quite frankly would have had to have been the biggest fool on earth to let her get away.
Seven years later we're coming up on our sixth wedding anniversary. That was sure a lucky fall, one that opened my eyes to the amazing woman who was right in front of me.
And so here's Bing to give us an anniversary waltz.