Renewing the Five Year Warranty

Five years ago, at this exact moment, I was pacing in the livingroom of my mom and stepdad. I was nervous and carless and waiting impatiently for my ride to the bar. Yes, the bar at 10am. I was single and kidless, I could do such things. I was also going to be wed that evening. Therefore, I needed to do such things.

The horn honked, the beer was served, the march played, the ring fit, the dances and the hugs blurred with slurs and well-wishes, and that was it. My bachelorhood had been successfully severed and I was officially a kept man.

Fast forward: Los Angeles County, California, May 11, 2006. I’m sitting here drinking fresh coffee and eating a plate of eggs scrambled with prosciutto. I feel old and discontent. I am oddly comfortable.

I have just had the quickest and most fascinating five years of my life, and as with most things that hit you with a fury I am a bit battered. It was, and is, worth it. It feels good. I am alive.

Marriage is good. Having a family is great. I am lucky beyond all measure. This is how a life should be lived.

Happy Anniversary Tricia. Here’s to the future!*

I’m toasting with coffee, not beer. It’s 10am for crying out loud!

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