I've got 10 minutes before I need to leave for work, my hair is still wet and my dinner isn't packed, but I had to take a moment to thank God for Michael.
(Wait, I just remembered it's taco salad day at work...WOOT. Taco salad, Taco salad, Taco Salad DAY.)
It's the little things, I'm telling you.
Four years ago I married the best person on the face of the planet. I know everyone thinks their spouse is the best person on the face of the planet, which is good. They are the best person on the planet to YOU and YOU alone.
They wouldn't be the best person on the face of the planet for someone else. But they are to you.
Everyone has a person. Michael is my person.
He is amazing and puts up with my shit, which is like crazy.
He knows when I'm starting to spin and he helps me find my way out.
He knows the words to every Raffi song ever recorded.
He loves me even though I have a super odd appreciation for Justin Timberlake (I'm sorry, but no one expected him to be anything. And he's only AMAZING and totally legit. Rant over.) and any power ballad on the radio.
Sometimes he helps me 'set fire to the rain' and it's freaking amazing.
He knows when I help him pick out clothes that I'm scheming to somehow make him look like Sherlock.
Michael: I don't wear scarves, why do you want me to get this scarf? You just want me to look like Benedict Cumberbatch?
Me: That is false. I want you to look like you. But dressed like Benedict Cumberbatch...as Sherlock Holmes. There is a big difference.
I love that he doesn't mind.
The guy is pretty unflappable.
And he is graceful like a gazelle. And handsome.
I just love him.
And if you ever wanted to know what my blog posts would look like if I only spent 10 minutes on them.
This is it.
Happy Anniversary Michael.