Today is my 9 year anniversary with my wife. She has now known me for the entirety of my 20s. I met her a few months before I turned 20, and now I’m a couple weeks into being 30. We have been through a lot of things, and both of us have changed a lot, but through it all, we’ve had each other.

We celebrated quietly and a bit humbly going to get manis and pedis — a first for both of us. It was nice very nice, and my wife’s nails in particular looked very lovey (she wanted “nail polish black enough to match my soul” and they obliged). I had a nice time drinking mimosas and being pampered while the smart TV across from me cycled through several YouTube pop music playlists.

It’s hard to articulate what 9 years means. It’s been rock concerts and car accidents and home purchasing and cookouts and home losses and vet trips and doggo snuggles and road trips and scrapbooking and lawn mowing and hugging and fighting and D&D and video games and stupid dancing and silly made up songs, and so much more. I’ve loved every minute of it.

Happy anniversary, honey. I love you.