The Big Day Pt. III

Justine likes to joke, "I'm the third luckiest girl in the world."  Which I suppose makes today the third happiest day of my life.  Except that it's not.  If we're going by that standard, this certainly trumps the second happiest day of my life, which leaves a taste more bitter than gumming brussel sprouts dipped in turpentine, and frankly I don't remember much about number 1, other than Reno, Kelpbed, a schizophrenic episode, and having to win enough money at the craps table to make it back home. So let's put this one up there with the birth of my son, the Yankees winning the Series, and some other stuff my lawyers have advised me not to talk about.  All in all, today should certainly crack the Top Five...

Seriously, Justine, thanks for taking a chance on a two-time loser.   In return, in addition to loving, honoring, and all that, I'd like to offer some marriage vows that won't be in today's program.

• I promise to do everything I can not to go bald.  Since I believe God punishes bad men by taking away their hair, I figure this is a win-win for you.  In short, if I start losing my hair, you probably should run.  

• You can trust me not to drink / And not to sleep around / And if you don't expect too much from me / You might not be let down ...  Piece by piece.  I'm a recovering addict, so aside from the occasional glass of red wine with red meat, you're pretty safe there.  And I will be faithful. Only whores and players aren't.  I have many faults.  But I am neither whore nor player.  The third part of this Gin Blossom equation, I believe is key.  Lowered bars equal happier partners. 

• I will cook and clean.  This is sort of out of necessity.  You don't really cook (although, yes, you make terrific tacos.  Highly fattening and carb-laden, but terrific).  But let's face it, you can't clean for shit.  You've used the goddamn vacuum once since we've been in the new house. And even then it was merely as a gesture.  (This pledge also includes continuing to stuff your clothes back in the drawers and closing them, which for some reason, despite knowing I have OCD and it gives me angina, you continue to do.)

• I will let you keep trying to instill hippy ideology into my son.  Just know that I will subvert those subversive hippy songs about rainbow children and teddy bear picnics by spending our play time together every morning while you are sleeping needlessly spraying aerosol cans into the ozone and letting the water run for a really really really long time.

• I will be a good dad to our children.   I'm sorta a screw-up in a lot of ways, but I think I'll be a good father.  I learned from the best: my own father.  And by "best" I mean "shithead," so, like the summer of George, I will do the opposite of everything he did.

• I will attempt to be the next white Heavyweight Champion of the World.  I realize this doesn't do much for you, and that it will never happen.  Not sure why I feel the need to include it.  Except that I am a little delusional.

• I promise that if somehow you ever drag me out dancing that I will watch your purse.   I know my white man overbite embarrasses you, so this is my promise to you.

Thanks for today, darling.  I love you...