A Decade with My Best Friend - R!

It's our anniversary! Somebody, somewhere, is losing a bet, I'm pretty sure.

I can hardly believe R and I have been married ten whole years. And even with all the stupid crap we've endured along the way, I'd still marry the man all over again, because every day is an adventure.

Some days are more adventurous than others, obviously, and those are the things I blog about. And you love me for it, dontcha?

I've been waiting forever to post the next three pictures. They require a small amount of backstory.

When R and I first got married, we had this great idea that each year we would take turns planning our anniversary celebration. On our first anniversary, R planned a wonderful overnight stay at Jackson House, a B & B in Alton, Illinois which advertizes a slice of fresh pie with your breakfast - what a great selling point!! We got dinner at Fast Eddie's and stayed the night in The Barn. It was really nice.

Of course, on our first anniversary we had a 16-month-old daughter (who is also why we never had a honeymoon), and R's parents offered to take her overnight so we could go out. They didn't offer the following year. So when it was my turn to plan, I had to search for places that allowed children. And back then we were both working full-time and Beeb was in day care all day, so we thought it would be kinda nice to spend some time with her too.

I had a vague memory of my parents taking me to Hannibal, the hometown of Mark Twain, (about 100 miles north of St. Louis on the Mississippi River) when I was little. I remembered thinking it was fun then, and now, being and adult with an English degree and a healthy appreciation for Mark Twain's contribution to American Literature, I thought I would like it better this time around.

The place I found was called Lulabelle's. which, according to local lore, was once a brothel. I'm the sort of person who finds tidbits like that charming. The place where we would be staying was called The Painted Lady.

The website mentioned a hot tub (hubba hubba!) and the best pancakes in town for breakfast. Beebie likes pancakes. Lulabelle's sounded like a winner.

The photographs on the website, very cleverly, do NOT show the entire outside of The Painted Lady. Allow me to enlighten you.

The first picture is a little misleading. There aren't a lot of cars in the photo, but The Painted Lady (the small blue house) is located at the intersection of the two busiest streets in all of Hannibal. You can see a bridge in the background. It's the only bridge across the Mississippi within a 50-mile radius. (EDIT: Unless ya wanna go up the river 10 miles to Quincy, Illinois.)



At dusk, they turn on the 80-billion jiggawatt blowtorch that illuminates the Welcome To Hannibal sign, located right outside the bedroom window. See the little blue house right behind the sign? That's The Painted Lady. Was I kidding?
It's RIGHT THERE.


Needless to say, we didn't get much sleep. And not in the wink wink, we didn't get much sleep if ya know what I'm sayin...bowchickabow kind of way like most people would spend their anniversary. Plus, being a brothel, there were no doors on any of the rooms in the house. So we couldn't really put Beeb in a room with some books, close the door and wait for her to fall asleep. She eventually fell asleep in the bed with us, then R moved her to another bedroom, and he and I got ready to fire up the hot tub.

The Welcome To Hannibal lights blaze right into the enclosed porch where the hot tub was. So I figured, screw it, we'll give the truckers a thrill as they whizz by. Then I lifted the lid of the hot tub and I was greeted by a layer of dead moths floating atop the water. Ugh. Never mind.

And the best part happened on our way home. When we set our wedding date, we were quite unaware of the fact that November 8th falls on the weekend that Deer Hunting Season begins.

You can't see it in the photo, but this bleeding deer carcass is BUNGEE-CORDED to the roof of the car. Fucking classic.



And don't you love how the dude's waving us around, like I want to get close enough to his deathmobile to see Bambi's mother's eyes rolled back in her head and her tongue flapping in the wind? No thank you, I'll just snap a picture so I can remember this moment for all eternity... and blog about it eight years from now.

Needless to say, Hannibal was the end of the Bed and Breakfast anniversary celebrations. In fact, the last few years have sparked an alarming trend. Two out of the last three years, R has seen a doctor on our anniversary. Two years ago, he got a vasectomy (the gift that keeps on NOT giving), and this year my husband subjected himself to a prostate exam.

So another man has jostled my husband's junk on the date of our wedding anniversary not once, but twice.

And how will we be celebrating this evening? Dollar burgers at Clancy's with the kids. And Thursday Night TV in our jammies.
And I wouldn't have it any other way.