Four years ago this week, in a tiny wooden chapel in the foothills of the Great Smokey Mountains, I married a man who said he'd walk through fire for me.
Little did he know that the smoke and fire he'd be walking through were towards the dinner table, after I'd burned yet another concoction.
Speaking of smoke, there was the time I flooded the tractor inside the garage to the point that I set off every carbon monoxide detector east of the Mississippi. You see, it was the first time I'd started the tractor since last summer, and I forgot which handle was the GAS and which was the CHOKE. (Speaking of choking, my throat is still raw from inhaling those fumes.) And gosh darn it, when you're already stressing about all the smoke you're inhaling and the fact that the situation is getting worse because of the confusion with the knobs, those carbon monoxide detectors are just enough to put a person into cardiac arrest.
Another time he walked through fire for me was the time or three I accidentally knocked over a lit candle during a romantic supper (a supper that I had managed not to burn). When there is no fire extinguisher in the house, or rather, you can't remember where you put it,this really is a test of what a person is made out of. He's made of True Grit. I'm made of True Spit.
Yet another potential disaster occurred right after Hurricane Isabel. We'd been hooked to a generator for approximately three of the longest weeks that ever felt like fourteen years. After power (or, as they say around here, "current") was restored, the first thing we turned on was the Big TV. I walked away for a while and BLAH BLAH BLAH THAT HAS SOMETHING TO DO WITH INCORRECT USE OF GENERATOR AND/OR EXISTING ELECTRICAL SYSTEM YADA YADA, the whole TV set went up in flames. There was lots of smoke, a few embers, and lots of tears. I loved that TV set, Rest in Peace.
Yes, in the Smokey Mountains (irony is not lost on me with the "smokey"), he said he'd marry me for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, as long as we both shall live. He said he'd walk through fire for me.
I don't think he realized just how many episodes of fire there would actually be, but I'm glad he's still here as my personal on-site Fire Department.
Happy Anniversary, Fireman. I love you.
6 comments:
I'll bet he's REALLY glad he didn't say "'til death do us part." Not a thing one wants to test over and over, unlike fire, which is kind of neat.
I'm personally really relieved you said "spit."
Happy anniversary, you spark and cinder couple, you!
Hey, Miss Chesapeake, I forgot. In case you'd like to see how rural I truly am, my more serious -- well, LESS SILLY -- blog is Reasonably Educated Bumpkins
http://www.norcalblogs.com/bumpkins
I don't usually take up other people's space promoting my own blogs -- darnit, yes I do -- but I am struck sometimes by how much your world seems like mine, a continent away.
This was yet another laugh-out-loud funny, delightful post, and I am so glad I found you!
-- Laurie
Oh, Foolery, we were definitely separted at birth. (We also have a triplet named Kathy, fyi.)
I can't wait to check out your other blog and based on No Moe Than a Dollar, I feel quite certain that I will thoroughly enjoy the reading.
THANK YOU!!
This brought a tear to my eye ... that and a pollen count of 5 million.
HAPPY ANNIVESARY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Good one, Icey! You're getting the hang of this.
cbw
You will like this. My husband is the firestarter in our house. He burned down half of the kitchen last year cooking french fries. It costs the insurance company $20,000 for his disaster. He said Well, Babe we got a beautiful new kitchen out of the deal. He is right.
Post a Comment