Nine Bells.

When people ask how long we have been married I know exactly what’s coming next. After the answer is given their heads jerk back while their eyes stay still in true Looney Tunes fashion.

This is always proceeded with a question about children and if they exist. The tone almost implies that the length of our marriage must certainly be tied to an unplanned pregnancy or perhaps an arranged shotgun style arrangement that has become tradition in exotic West Virginia.

In either case the answer is no or NO!

It’s during these circumstances that I wish I had a t-shirt that read: I’ve hads me a wife and she done not preggienant or under eighteen.

Once all of the pertinent wedding history has been recited, and after being asked about kids for the second time, they kinda stare and look at your nine years of bliss as if it’s a carnival freak show. Especially when they ask the wife — because of her ageless beauty they naturally assume she was married at the ripe age of fifteen.

Of course this is not so.

Too bad for them, the ones who apparently can not believe that any one would be married for so long without bearing children, as if that was the only reason to get hitched in the first place. Suckas.

Tonight I celebrated my ninth wedding anniversary to the prettiest, most remarkable and smartest person I know. I’m one hell of a happy and lucky guy.