Love note #2 this week. I think someone poisoned me. I’m starting to itch.

Dear G,

If someone had told me ten years ago that in 2008 I would be living in Chicago (again), have almost 4-year-old twins, and be in my eighth year of marriage, I would have laughed my ass off and then slapped that person. Because that sounds far too normal for my crazy brain, and some days I still wake up thinking, Whose life am I living? And then I look over at you and think, From what normal planet do you hail?

The first few years of our lives together, I believed that I had much more influence than you to bring in the crazy than you had on me to bring in the normal. And somehow, you little turd, you subtly pulled me to the other side of normalcy. I guess crazy makes people believe they have more power than they really have. It would only make sense that normal makes people stealthy. You are a cunning fox, my friend.

When we first met, a certain lawyer friend of yours* advised you not to get involved with me. You know — since you were my manager. The advice was valid, albeit flawed (“Relationship? Lawsuit waiting to happen. Hookup? Dude… of course.”) but you ignored your friend and went for it all anyway. Not that you had a choice. I can be quite stealthy myself at times. (Plus, O had the under on that bet and you know that I can’t let my friends lose.)

And even though I tried to crazy my way out of it all on several occasions, two things hit me when BTT called me one day and said she had a horrible dream that I had, in fact, tried to crazy my way out of it and she dream-said to me, “What are you doing? Why are being crazy? Who’s going to take care of you?”

The two things were: 1. I was clearly so crazy that my friends thought I necessitated a handler. And 2. Goddammit, my friends were starting to like you more than they liked me.

And so I pushed aside my crazy, listened to my friends, and tried to make them like me more again. And eventually I realized that they were right.

You are more likable.

Given our propensity for competition, on a superficial level this is really f’ing annoying. But deep down, I am so proud. You are my little trophy husband. But older. And well… let’s face it, I’m so much hotter than you. But I digress.

What I really want to say is this: You are one of the most caring, most unfathomably loyal, most unselfish and giving people I know. You show me love that is so unconditional that at times I actually believe that you might be crazier than I am. You give me support that I know I don’t always deserve. You are my number one fan and have the enthusiasm of a hometown stadium for anything I do. Sometimes I picture myself literally presenting you with a handful of shit that I’ve molded into a G and wrapped with ribbon, and after thanking me enthusiastically, you would admire it and ask if it was a new font that I’ve recently designed. This level of support is not human. It’s abnormal.

I want to tell you today, because I know I don’t reciprocate to any equal or even acceptable level, that I am your number one fan as well. That I’m always so proud of you and proud to be your wife and proud to be a part of this family and life we have made together. That you are my hero, and that I admire your strength and dedication and smarts and talent. That I constantly learn from you and that you challenge me (in a good way). That I sometimes wonder how you can do so much for me and not be totally resentful of me, and that I’m waiting for the day when I wake up and, after thinking, Whose life am I living? that I will look over at you only to find you staring at me with vengeance in your eyes. That I am always thankful to you for introducing the normal into my life, no matter how much of the crazy I try to re-introduce. And that I hope you don’t kill me in my sleep one day, but I hope you know that it’s okay if you do; I’ll understand.

Okay, while I know I’m not crazy enough to justify Murder One, I also know you quite enjoy this self-deprecating humor and although I may not do it as well as some*, I live to make you laugh and entertain you. (And kick your ass in Scrabulous, but that’s neither here nor there.)

I know you could have chosen to walk away and lead a more normal life, but for some inexplicable reason you gravitated towards me. For that, I am grateful. I’ve witnessed some bad behavior from spouses lately, and I know of others who have lost wonderful husbands. I am lucky. Incredibly, ridiculously lucky.

Happy Eighth, my stealthy, gorgeous, cunning husband. You give me everything I need or want and more.

I wub.
And I promise always to give you the last bite.

Love,
Your Younger and Much Hotter Wife

*
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*You know who you are, my little self-deprecating lawyer friend