It's not an anniversary. Though in another couple months we'll have been together for thirteen years... and that should be unlucky, but I feel lucky because you're a wonderful husband.
I remember the day my sister invited you over and you thought she was interested but it was really me. I remember telling her, "Maybe I'm crazy... but that guy... the guy with the blonde hair. I really like him." I won't say you were my type, because I didn't date guys that were nice, cute, and super intelligent, but you've definitely become my type.
My type is the guy that'll fix a dryer without complaining. My type is the guy that knows me well enough to take the kids away sometimes. My type is the guy that is a good provider for his family even if they're a lot more work than he ever planned on. My type is you.
I loved you from our first kiss and I always will.
I know I'm high maintenance and you've had to learn all my stupid rules to keep us all happy. I know I don't clean as much as I should. I know I'm not perfect. I know you love me despite all that.
Thank you for supporting me when I showed an interest in painting. Thank you for keeping my laptop up and going and helping me with my writing. Thank you, most of all, for always being proud of me. You're the best husband I could have ever dreamed of.
I love you the most,
Wendy
