My husband celebrated his 50th birthday last week.
On Thursday night, I threw him a surprise happy hour at one of our favorite local bars. People from all different parts of his life just kept walking through the doors.
And he felt tremendously loved.
Which is how I wanted him to feel.
And then he got drunk.
Which I expected him to do.
Because you only turn 50 once.
And I was the designated driver.
I drove us home in our stick shift car, which I’m not too skilled at doing, cursing every time I had to switch gears and hubs’ head jerked back. The thought of him throwing up in our fairly new car was so stressful that when I got home, I needed an hour to unwind while he lay in bed smelling like a distillery and snoring like a large dog.
But I was happy because he had been so happy.
The next morning we got up and packed for the next part of his birthday celebration: a weekend cruise. Just the two of us. I’m not one of those wives who pack for their husbands. So he packed and I packed and we got in the car for the two hour ride to the port.
This is how part of our conversation went:
Me: Shoot, I forgot lotion and my beach hat.
Him: That’s okay. You can buy a hat at the Straw Market in Nassau. And they’ll have lotion on board.
Me: Darn, I also forgot the butt plug.
Him: Good thing your husband didn’t forget it. And he brought the lube.
(Why is he referring to himself in the third person?)
Me: Oh, I brought a bottle of lube too.
Both Me and Him: Ha, ha, ha, ha.
Me: Yeah, I can always buy lotion and a hat on the ship but I doubt they sell butt plugs in the sundry shop.
More laughter followed. We sounded like a bunch of middle-aged sex-crazed idiots who belong together.
Which I guess we are. There’s somebody for everybody.
We had a relaxing, and intimate, weekend on the cruise.
And I have the pictures to prove it. But don’t worry, even I know that some things are better left unphotographed.