Happy Anniversary, Mr Lannis.

It's been nine—NINE!—years. Thirteen since we met, but nine(!) since we married. He's my grounder, my number one, and the best straight man a (not so) funny girl could ask for.

(Seriously, he doesn't think I'm funny. I'm "quirky," and "cute," and it's "adorable" when I make a joke because I'm his and so he's obligated to find me adorable, but he's clearly mortified on my behalf when I run away to Atlanta each year to play dress up with other would-be-but-not-really grownups, as well as every time I say "amazeballs," "awesomesauce," and "zombie tits!" in mixed company... Isn't he sweet?)

Over the years he's put up with more than anyone's fair share of my bullshit, regardless of whether they're married to me. He's supported me when others would say I'm bugnuts and move on, and picked fights over ridiculous things to make me realize how stupid it is to fight (or worry) about something so trivial.

I love him. And there's no one I'd rather be silly with.

Happy anniversary, Mr Lannis. (Even though you won't see this, because you're too cool to read my blog. True story. ::snort::)