Happy Anniversary

Apparently today is our wedding anniversary. Oops. As we have two anniversaries a week apart (registry office on account of being the 2nd Mrs Harrison, plus church blessing) you'd think I'd manage to remember at least one of them. In fact, it's not even a case of forgetting but rather getting round to doing something about it. Anyway, this year I have failed miserably so instead of a card here is a little blog post for my husband. I hope he likes it otherwise my next entry could be called 'Does anyone know a good divorce lawyer?'
We have been married for eleven years, not a hugely long time I know but still, not bad going. I have been reflecting on how things have changed in those years, what do we have to show for it? Well, clearly there are the obvious things; we now have a psychopathic hedgehog, a fairly well adjusted cat (apart from that worrying phase when he kept trying it on with a pink feather duster) and an eight year old with a Calpol habit, none of which were in existence that sunny day in July 2002. This is our third home together and we have both been through three cars each. Had we shunned private vehicle ownership in favour of a more eco-friendly way of travelling we could probably have paid the mortgage off by now such would have been the savings. We have both had several different jobs plus short periods of unemployment. We have had times when money has been tight and times when it has been a little bit less tight. We have made new friends and sadly lost old ones. In brief, we have been through a fair bit together.
So, we are both a bit older and greyer and hopefully a little wiser. The lovely dinner set we had as a wedding present has gradually been chipped, broken and used for the cat's food. The huge fluffy towels are a bit frayed and threadbare and get used to mop up when I defrost the freezer. I no longer try to impress by baking home made brownies and delicious meals totally from scratch. I still iron his shirts but not with that same enjoyment which came with the novelty of being a new wife.
So, what will the next decade or so bring? No doubt a mixture of good and bad, feeling well and being ill, having no money to spare, being able to splash out a bit. In a nutshell, our wedding vows.

My Inner Baptist

I had a traditional Baptist upbringing, and despite the fact that I have now largely rejected the whole charismatic church package, it remains a significant, if unwelcome influence on my life even today. For example, if I am required to provide food for a social gathering I experience a strange compulsion to take quiche. I am also totally unable to even contemplate reading 'Fifty Shades of Grey' due to strict ideas about, well you know, sex. The Baptist guide to teenage boy/girl relationships could be summed up in one phrase. 'If you haven't got one, don't touch it'. I guess if you had the nerve to be a gay Baptist then the advice would be 'If you have got one, don't touch it anyway'.
My young son recently asked what a virgin was. I floundered about for a bit before deciding on "It's someone who hasn't had a boyfriend or girlfriend", and instantly imagining all sorts of unspeakably embarrassing and potentially incriminating scenarios where I had to explain to the head teacher/vicar/magistrate that what he actually meant when he said he wasn't a virgin was...You get the idea. When my sister-in-law (also indoctrinated from an early age and also a fellow escapee) heard about this question she said "What were you thinking of? You should just have told him it was someone who isn't married!"
A few months go I was in Barcelona with a colleague looking at the most beautiful designer coat. It was in the sale and there was only one left. I was umming and aahing about whether to get it, arguing that I didn't need it. "What do you mean NEED?", she asked incredulously. "Do you LIKE it? Will it make you feel good wearing it?"
"Yes", I replied, adding feebly "I can't help it. I'm a Baptist". It must have been an amusing scene to behold as my friend stood in the middle of Desigual, urging me in a loud voice, "Fight your Inner Baptist. Come on. Fight it and win". I did. I bought the coat and I love it. Now, whenever that little voice pipes up in my head telling me that I am 17 years old again and that I must eat quiche and not have sex I put my hands over my ears like a child and sing 'La, la, la not listening!'