Friday, June 28, 2013

A Decade.


You got a fast car. I want a ticket to anywhere. Maybe we can make a deal, maybe together we can get somewhere. Any place is better, starting from zero, got nothing to lose. Maybe we'll make something, but me myself I got nothing to prove. 

"I do." 
A decade.

Let me just tell you what can happen in a decade. 

You laugh. You yell. You cry. You fight. You move into a terrible apartment, then get kicked out. You get pets you can't afford, then give them away. You build friendships, then watch them fade away. You burn your stomach trying to make pancakes. You have to borrow money from your parents. You experience the pain of watching the other one pack their things, then the joy of them not actually leaving. Your wife kicks a dudes butt for you. You join churches, then you leave them. You try to start a family, then one day you do. You quit jobs, then start new ones. You worry about money. You worry about sex. You worry about the kids and how dumb they act. You go to school, then you quit, then try the whole thing again. You get caught up in online gaming and have to be yanked to reality again. You buy cars you can't afford, then have them taken. You write a hot check hoping it won't get cashed until payday. You take vacations that are stressful, and then vacations that are incredibly relaxing. You deal with others who try to take your happiness. You deal with each other's issues. You realize how easy you had it with no responsibilities. You pack up one night and head to Kansas, Houston, or anywhere else you get a whim to go to. You win. You lose. You love. 

My first live Duke game. 

The Missus is not really great at gift-giving. Traditionally I have to tell her exactly what I want, or most always suffer a tinge of disappointment. Over the last week I've been thinking of the gifts we won't be able to get each other this year because we're broke, and I had a startling revelation. 

The Missus has given me ten years of her. 

Ten years of her life have been spent married to me. Ten years of babysitting me, laughing at/with me, and telling me time and time again, "We can't afford it." If not for her, I would not be a father, I would not be in school, and I would more than likely have died years ago in what the authorities would probably call an "accident." 

Turns out, The Missus is incredible at giving gifts. 

One of the first meals she made me. You can see why I'm fat. 

A few weeks ago my youngest brother sent me a text. He wanted advice on proposing to a girl. I asked him a couple of funny questions, and then this one:

"Can you imagine the rest of your life without her?"

I cannot for one second think about a life that doesn't involve The Missus. I've thought about what it might be like to lose her, and my brain just shuts down, it won't work. She has completely fabricated herself into every facet of my life, and I would not have it any other way. 


"Travis, put that down, you don't get cake yet." 
Here's the thing. I like to say I wouldn't change any decisions in my life, that I live with no regrets and no looking back. But that's a lie. Had I known what I know today, I would have done quite a few things differently to make her feel more special, to give her more support, and to show her how much I love her. 

And I'm sure I'll screw things up in the future. Screwing things up is kind of what I do. Forgiving me is kind of what makes her so special. Forgiving me is kind of what she does. 

10 years. And a bangin' bowtie. 
She's not perfect. She never answers her phone. She drives WAY too slow. She won't tell someone when she's mad at them. She doesn't like Mexican food as much as me. 

But she can deep fry the mouse or phone you're scrolling with and make you love it. She can light up a room with a smile and a comment. She laughs at my jokes. She laughs when I fart. She tells me I'm a good writer. She reads my blogs. She raises our children. She doesn't make fun of me for crying in movies. She kisses me when I come home from work. She lets me touch her boobies. She drives on Sundays even when I know she doesn't want to. She does my laundry and my dishes. She puts up with my whims, my obsessions, and my incessant need to try new things. 

She loves me. 

I love her. 

And here's to the next ten years. The next decade of Travis and Alicia Sloat. 

Young, stupid, happy. 
In a hundred years from now, I know without a doubt, they'll all look back and wonder how we made it work out. Chances are, we'll go down in history, when they want to see, how true love should be, they'll just look at us.