Wherein I establish my devotion to both my husband...and reality TV

I have been married three times. There, I've said it. As my old college sorority roommate put it when asked if she could attend numero tres, "I would never miss one of Brooke's weddings!". She meant it in only the sweetest way though, I assure you.

But not including Mom, she really is the only one to attend all three. Hey, it's not like they were all in the space of a year or something...sheesh...I'm hardly Britney. (OK, I too met my current husband in London and we do both have a love of all things Cheeto-rific, but I draw the line at ever uttering the word "y'all".)

I imagine my friend deserves some kind of door prize for the trifecta. But what do you get the woman who is still on marriage number one-and-only, with two beautiful kids and a face that REALLY hasn't changed since we hid her then fiancee overnight in our room, knowing that YOU WERE NOT ALLOWED TO HAVE MEN ON THE SECOND FLOOR AND COULD FACE SERIOUS PUNISHMENT FOR DOING SO. See, not all sorority girls are conformist.

Mr. Blogger, however, is IT. Let me say that again in case you didn't hear me. HE. IS. IT. Not because it's a pain in the ass to plan a wedding, and not because I don't have the strength to diet myself back into oblivion with the sole purpose of looking good for one day, only to go Binge City on the honeymoon.

It is because he makes me laugh. Yes, he is cute and sexy as hell. Yes, he has an English accent which frankly makes the words "I love you" sound like a purr from heaven. And yes, I have finally learned that perfect though I may aspire to be, I do make mistakes occasionally and CANNOT win every argument. Oh, pull your chin off the floor Honey.

If you need any proof of this man's impeccable genes, please see the comment section under yesterday's post. MB's mom, this "fuck"'s for you.

Which brings me to last night...

I was firmly ensconced on the couch, watching The Amazing Race with the Amazing Runaway Amish Buggy. Suddenly I became keenly aware that out of the corner of my eye, Mr. Blogger appeared to be riding some kind of invisible Hippity Hop. It was either that or he was playing peek-a-boo. I prefer to believe the former because you have to at least be somewhat older to advance to the Hop.

Crouched down next to me, head-a-bobbin' and laughing to himself, I knew he was not on any kind of hallucinogenic; he simply wanted my attention. After a good 20 seconds of this, I did what any wife in her right mind would do...shout "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!?!?!".

And with that he ran back to the other room to finish watching House, exclaiming "I have ADD!", only with the last "D" pronounced "deeeeeeeeeeeeee!". Apparently this display was only to last as long as the commercial break would allow.

I'm thinking if this whole baby-making thing doesn't quite work out....maybe that's not the end of the world. I've got enough to deal with. And to love.