In ten days I will have been married for eleven years. I have been looking at the same dirty socks strewn about for over a decade. I have been nagging at the same man to pick his wet towel off the bathroom floor for 4015 days.

Not that I’ve been counting or anything. I’m just really good at arithmetic at the top of my head.

Heh.

During these eleven years of wedded bliss *twitch* I have learned a thing or two.

Thing one: Boo has vile gas when he eats cheese. He loves cheese. He eats a lot of cheese. Consequently, I have no nasal hairs left as they have been singed off by the wickedly foul odors he likes to emanate in my direction.

Thing two: If you don’t keep score, no one can lose at the game of marriage.

I’ve learned a few other things along the way, like how a grown man needs constant nagging reminding to cut his facking toenails yet will always remember to when he runs out of beer. I’ve learned how nothing will deter a man from constantly grabbing at your funbags of love, not even having to roll up the ole beavertails to stuff them into your bra after your wondertitties have been sucked dry by the vampires you call children.

But no marital lesson has been as important as learning how to forgive and move on.

Which isn’t always easy. Especially when you are nine months pregnant, having gained over a 100 pounds, can barely fit behind the wheel of your van to drive to buy milk for your toddler demon spawn and all you can dream about is that last bit of mint chocolate chip ice cream waiting for you to lovingly devour when you finally arrive back home, only to find an empty container and a spoon sitting inside of it while your husband is burping up minty fresh breath.

It took a while, but I finally forgave and moved on.

It’s not always been easy but I have learned the fine art of forgiveness. Let’s face it, eleven years of marriage has given me many an opportunity to practice this art.

Like the time Boo gave me a can of tuna and a chocolate bar for my 26th birthday.

Or the time he gave me a shop vac for our anniversary. I wasn’t bitter. Not at all. Not even after having scrimped and saved to buy him the set of golf clubs he had coveted only to receive a vacuum for HIM to use in HIS shop.

Forgiveness allowed me to move on and not wrap said golf clubs around his neck.

I forgave you, Boo, for the time you laughingly told everyone that I was caught picking my underwear out of my arse by your boss. I forgave you for the time you announced to your family that I had to go shopping for new jeans because “the ole girl is finally filling out and putting on some weight.”

It wasn’t easy, but I forgave you.

I learned how to forgive him for making us chronically late for every family function we’ve attended in the last eleven years because of his incessant and annoying need to ‘finish the next level’ of what ever video game he was playing while I run around like a mad woman trying to get myself and the kids ready to leave.

I even forgave him for running out of gas when I was in labour with our son Bug. Sure my contractions were less than a minute apart. I understood how he may have simply forgot to fill up the family vehicle the night before I went into labour after I politely nagged reminded him we needed gas. He was dealing with a hormonal, bitchy cow and was distracted by my girth.

I even forgave him while he chatted up a storm with the gas station attendant while I had to squeeze my legs shut in order to prevent giving birth in the front seat of our van while he laughed about outrageous gas prices and how ridiculous it was to run out of gas while your wife was eight centimeters dilated and her contractions were coming every twenty seconds.

We made it to the hospital. Barely. So what if Bug just about fell on his head onto the floor. I forgave you, Boo.

I have grown to be a better person than I would have been if I hadn’t got knocked up married him. He taught me how to laugh it off and move on.

Even when he forgets to put down the toilet seat thereby ensuring my ass will take a dip in the icy waters of the porcelain throne as I fumble in the darkness to relieve my now stretched and damaged bladder in the middle of the night.

It’s not always been easy. I still don’t understand how I can send him to the grocery store with a list and he still manages to forget items that are clearly marked and underlined on the list clutched in his hands. Items necessary to the happiness and survival of his self family members. Items like toilet paper.

I forgive you, Boo, even though I know you will do it again. And again. And again. Because clearly, this is NOT your fault.

I love him. And I know he loves me. Even when he brings home monstrosities like my darling Bertha and then runs away with his tail tucked between his legs leaving me to look at the piece of shat rust bucket sitting in our yard, advertising to the world that we are the neighbourhood’s token rednecks, I forgive him.

I know you meant well. You did your best. Even if you and I have a different definition of what your best really means.

I forgive you, Boo.

Eleven years have brought about a lot of forgiveness. Not that I’m tracking it or keeping score. That would be wrong. I just want to let him know that I will always forgive him. Even when he accidentally flips over our brand new lawn tractor because he was drag racing it with his buddy.

I love you and I forgive you Boo.

Remember this when I tell you about a little accident I may have had the other day involving our atv and my car. Try and remember how much I love you and all the times I have forgiven you for misdeeds, no matter the cost to our bank book, my pride or my abused uterus.

Keep in mind that while I was cleaning our yard up and doing chores that should, by nature, fall under your pervue, I may have had a little more fun than I intended with our quad. I may have gotten carried away and in so, accidentally bumped into my car with our quad while driving in reverse.

It wasn’t my fault. Accidents happen. I wasn’t showing off for our kids and my friend fooling around. I was working. It had nothing to do with the fact I was laughing my arse off and not paying attention to what was around me.

It was an accident. Expensive, perhaps but an accident nonetheless.

The important thing for you to remember is no one was hurt and cars can be fixed. It’s just money after all. Isn’t that why you work out of town?

Don’t worry Boo. No matter what I will always forgive you.

Even if you flip out when you read this and see what I did.

I forgive you.