We have accomplished six and a half weeks of being a one car household. I am so proud of my honey for bearing most of the sacrifice, although I am jealous of his thinning waistline. A few days ago we even left the car parked in the carport all day long as I rode my much improved bicycle, and he took the bus. Thanks so much to Asheville Recyclery; however, please do not be fooled by their website: they are located behind the French Broad Food Coop at 90 Biltmore Avenue in southern downtown Asheville. Although my dry-rotted nubby mountain bike tires have been replaced by slicks, my saddle is the most uncomfortable piece of plastic in existence, and my gear shift has a mind of its own. I will ameliorate these issues and become a brave bike commuter along the quite dangerous Highway 25A (aka Sweeten Creek Road). Additionally, I will continue to ride the bus on the weekends to get downtown to grocery shop even if I do have difficulty reading the schedule correctly. Due to my idiocy, I was able to walk a few miles from the North Asheville library to Greenlife lugging a backpack full of cognac, brandy, capilene and socks from the Ski Country tent sale, an Andrew Jackson biography, my grocery shopping bags, and a purse with a hand on the fucking cooler (for the groceries that were not to be). I walked all that way (and believe me for someone as sedentary as myself that is one long fucking walk) because I cannot read the bus schedule, so I guess I paid a physical stupid tax today.
The other reason for our celebration (which we will postpone due to us both suffering from nasty early season colds) is our second wedding anniversary. I agree that two years of married bliss doesn’t really deserve a grandiose celebration, but come January it will be ten years we have shared. I met this wonderful man on my birthday, and we shared French toast at IHOP after seeing some punk band at a bar that doesn’t exist because it either went out of business or someone drove their car through it.
I didn’t really think of myself as the marrying type, but I love this man. I really wanted to stand in public and say it; I wanted to profess my undying love in front of our family and friends. It was so wonderful, and I love being married to him. I don’t feel that anything really changed from our cohabitating or living in sin days, but damn, I love calling him my husband.
The only thing that sucks about being married is the constant query of where are the kids? I will leave that for another post.