2 years
I’ve blogged before, in posts which have now been slightly disfigured by the passing of time and various incompatible WordPress updates, about the night D and I met. That was 18 years ago last Thursday.
And today, two years ago, we got married.
Yes, I know it’s neither a legal marriage nor a religious one; it’s a civil partnership. But we had a wedding. And cake.
And I love him as much today, eighteen years after he made me laugh by putting on a video which featured himself being humiliated before an audience, made me a good strong cup of tea, and spooned as we talked - talked! - before making out, as I did two years ago when I promised that we’d grow old and decrepit and slightly senile together.
I just never realised it would happen so quickly 
He’s still the Jiminy Cricket to my slightly hyperactive Pinocchio; still, I swear, the reason I’ve not been found dead in a ditch; still infuriating and funny and sweet and capable of shocking me from time to time.
Still, sometimes, when he’s feeling down, makes me down too. I could avoid those moments the same way we could all avoid being saddened by the sadness of those people we love: By never loving anyone, by spending life alone.
But look at what I’d miss. No, really, take a look through the archives on this here blog. He’s always there, even when he’s not mentioned. He’s who I come home to; who picks me up from the station; who’s sad when I’m sad, and who gave me the best birthday ever this past month. He’s capable of being just as F*cked up as I am, but, thankfully, rarely at the same time, so we usually even each other out.
He’s kind, and sweet, and honest, and old-fashioned, and funny, and generous, and if he has a fault, it’s that, sometimes, he cares too much about what should just be let go.
And he’s still mine.
Happy wedding anniversary.