Celebrating 60 Years of Matrimony

Okay, this is an observation that Señora has grown quite tired of, but I still find immensely entertaining…at least until I get her chancla upside my head.

It works like this.  Señora was married 28 years her first go around.   I was technically married 22 years, but the number of years living together were somewhat less than that figure. However, the paperwork says 22. Nuff said.

If you add those two numbers, 28 and 22, you arrive at 50 years of matrimony between the two of us.

Señora and I have been a couple for 15 years, but married only the last 10 years of that period.  So much like an IRS tax form, take the number of years, 50,  from the line above, and add it to the 10 years on this line.  If’n my slide rule is correct that adds up to celebrating 60 years of matrimonial experience.  Well seasoned comes to mind. One would think that we would be very expert at this dance called marriage… one would think.

I was just reading that the 10th anniversary is the TIN anniversary.  Hmmm…I wonder how Señora is doing on tin foil? Boy does that date me, calling aluminum foil, tin foil. I could gift her 10 rolls of Reynold’s wrap, and she could gift me a new hat she made for me from one of those rolls. My current hat is showing its age, and is quite thin in spots from beating back alien telepathic rays almost constantly. A win-win situation for the both of us.

Of course, for the 60th anniversary, diamonds are in order. All of a sudden my jest does not sound quite so humorous . Clearly I misaligned the cursor on my slide rule.  Yeah, that’s the ticket.

But there is a bit of unfairness in our relationship.  I thought Señora cuter than the proverbial speckled pup under a red wagon the first time I set my baby blue peepers on her. Some how, I am assuming by dark and magical arts, she keeps getting better and better looking with each passing year. On the other hand, every morning when I look in the mirror preparing for the new day, yours truly is startled, well frightened, by the curmudgeonly old geezer that is staring back at him, mimicking his every move. Worst yet this apparition haunting my looking glass appears to be geezerfying at an alarming logarithmic rate.

God bless Señora for sporting her omnipresent rose colored glasses, and especially for her very selective hearing that seems to screen out my frequent curmudgeonly grumblings. I am not sure if the Catholic Church would make a saint out of a  long suffering, hot Jewish Russian Princess, but if they would, I have the perfect candidate.

And so it goes on this anniversary date…

Subscribe to Curmudgeon Alley