The Penis Piñata’s Name is Chauncey

In just a few days, my husband (Adam) and I will hit our 12th wedding anniversary.


I bet you were expecting a wedding picture here, weren’t you? Well, jokes on you – I don’t have a picture of my wedding saved on my phone.

However, in that same vein, I’m not actually sure why I have a picture of a penis piñata, though. If someone had come up to me 15 minutes ago and said, “What do you think is a more likely picture you’d have on your phone – your wedding day, or a giant mother#%$&ing pink penis piñata?” I can’t say I would have guessed correctly. Yet, here we are.

Side note, I can tell you that I named that penis piñata Chauncey and planned adventures around the town with him. Perhaps that is a quest I should champion once again?

Where was I going with this? Where am I? Where did this shovel and trash bag come from?

Oh right, something about my anniversary.

I am trying to resist calling it the “dirty dozen” anniversary and give him only items from around the house that require cleaning.

You know, when we got married 12 years ago – our wedding pictures were taken on 35mm film. Digital photography had like *just* come out and cameras were about 2 megapixels. George Bush was president, and the war in Iraq was usually the top news story. I somehow recall the headline story on the front page of the paper being “Bombs Over Baghdad” but I might just be thinking of a song by Outcast.

The Internet had changed the world a lot in just the few years prior – but I still think my folks had to use the telephone line and AOL to connect to the World Wide Web. There was no Facebook to update my status from “engaged” to “married” – or Instagram for my friends to document the behind the scenes schnanigans. Hell, most people still didn’t have a cell phone and smartphones weren’t even invented yet.

Twelve years doesn’t seem that long ago, but the world has changed a lot now that I think about it. And 12 years from now, Adam (Universe willing) will be just a hair shy of 50 – now tell me that’s not a mind #%$@.

And (knock on wood) our kiddos will be teenagers. Also weird.

I reckon a lot more will change. Maybe we’ll have a woman president. Maybe we’ll have contact with Tom Cruise’s aliens. Maybe I will try bangs again.

But, I’m going to predict some things won’t change, namely:

  • Laughing at our own, and each other’s farts
  • Trying to trap the other in the car with our fart, if we are the one driving and subsequently have access to the window and door locks
  • “Tech-gether” time as my friend Hanna calls it – not feeling the need to resort to archaic verbal interaction when we can just play online games of yatzee against each other
  • Always arguing about who did the dishes last
  • Me claiming I smell a foul odor (then prowl the house Indiana Jones style, trying to find the source) while Adam swears there is no smell
  • Adam leave the house for a minute, comes back in, then declares there IS a smell (that he was nose blind to minutes before)
  • We’ll go longer than we should for washing our sheets…
  • …but we are both a little gross so it won’t bother either of us
  • We will ponder what we would do with the money, if we won a million dollars (which will probably have the buying power of $1322 in 2027)
  • We’ll sing “If I Had A Million Dollars” and argue over who is supposed to sing which part (and the pronounciation of ’emu’)
  • I still won’t like his singing competition shows, but Adam will kindly watch Bachelor/Bachelorette with me
  • I will still like the way his white undershirts smell, in all months except summer
  • He’ll still let me be the big spoon
  • I will still love him

Whatever, mush mush mush. Happy 12 years babe.

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