Well, eight years ago* (yes, on April Fool’s Day), I convinced a woman to make her life miserable. Don’t get me wrong, when I proposed, I specifically said “I can’t promise you happily ever after, but I can promise you that it will be interesting.”

I’ve taught her to be long-suffering, what the meaning of perseverance is. Given her practical experience in what a Dark Night of the Soul is. Eight years of her putting up with my Mojo Jo Jo or Mr. T “does bedroom banter” routines (“I pity the fool who won’t get naked right now!”). Eight years of my bursting into the bedroom singing the best of Jimi Hendrix (“cuz I’m a voodoo chile …).

Eight years of poetry dedicated to her (making up for the premature eulogies I kept writing–I’m a horror writer. Eulogies ARE romantic to me). Eight years of my version of parenting (starting with the birth of our son, Reese, part one AND part two, followed quickly by the birth of Malcolm) and her being lost in our testosterone fest.

In short, she’s managed to put up with me. For eight years. Eight LONG (for her, anyway) years.

So today’s my one day of the year where I make her hate her life less. To this day, her friends comment on how she used to be sweet, nice. Then she came to the dark side (hmm, literally and figuratively, now that I think about it).

My kids, on the other hand, are more interested in the fact that today is also April Fool’s Day. I keep telling them that without the anniversary, there would be no them or their bad jokes. Instead, I have to put up with them telling me that there’s a spider on my head.

*I meant to post this yesterday, but I actually got busy doing anniversary type stuff. Plus, I have to submit anniversary blogs for pre-approval after last years “It’s been seven years and I’m a-itchin'” blog got vetoed.

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