Noah and I just celebrated our 20-year wedding anniversary. Yes, I was 13 when I got married.
As I announced to several (OK, about 1,000) people a significant anniversary was coming up, it dawned on me what a Herculean effort it is to reach such a milestone in this day and age. Several newly married friends lined up with notepads to interview me on the secret of marital longevity. I fully expected a call from the New York Times.
I could have made up any number of quotable sound bites, like the importance of sacrifice, putting the other’s needs ahead of your own (well OK, I definitely do that) and making dinner weekly wrapped in Saran Wrap. The wife, not the dinner, that is.
But the truth for us is somehow we’ve managed to keep a slight sense of humor about us through all the ups and downs 20 years can deliver. Marriage is a daily challenge under the most fortunate of circumstances. Part of our saving grace has been that Noah still likes to make jokes about stuff–and I still manage to laugh sincerely at them. At least when I’m not really mad at him.
As luck would have it, Noah has been doing some work for a company in the Napa Valley for the last few months, so I grabbed a flight and met him out there to spend some QT together on our big day (another tip for marital longevity: get away occasionally from the kids, or simply don’t have them to begin with). But first, a little shopping was in order.
I thought it might be a good time to refresh the old sleepwear I’d been sporting. Mind you, I don’t snooze in ratty t-shirts and gym shorts (otherwise do you think I’d be celebrating a 20-year anniversary? Seriously.) But my jammies and nightgowns were looking a bit worn around the edges and not at all worthy of a trip to Solage spa resort in Calistoga.
Naturally, I headed to the chic shop beloved by women everywhere–Target. Seeing as I also needed OJ, bread and a few other necessities for my three darling children while I was away, I thought I’d be efficient and see what they had in the lingerie department. Then something special caught my eye.
First of all, I’m a fan of just about everything ever made in charcoal grey. It serves as basic black in my wardrobe. If you gave me charcoal grey scrubs, I’d put a belt and scarf with them and call it good. What I found at Target was this hot little number.
I was seriously considering it. Not for it’s sexy quotient, but more for the “I’m so cool I wear charcoal to bed like a Calvin Klein model” factor. But then, sigh. There was a sign above them that said this.
Perfect. Is this what 20 years have done to me? My sense of sexy is this off? Maybe at times, but my sense of humor isn’t. After hanging up the nursing bra, I found the perfect pair of hot skivvies.
Trust me, they were a big hit.