Eight years of the life sentence served

I meant to post this yesterday, as That Man and I celebrated our anniversary. I asked him how he felt about the time he's served and he laughed. We didn't do anything special because he had to finish our floor. And yes!! It's done. Except he had to work late tonight, so I STILL don't have a stove. Ugh. Now I have to find something creative to make tomorrow night, since he's working late tomorrow.

It's such a toss up. On one hand, I really want to get the house on the market. But given that this is a very expensive process, I'm not saying no to the extra money. :) I got spoiled earlier in the year because he got a ton of overtime, and lately that hasn't been happening. Add in my not working because I'm on break, and I'm willing to be more creative in how we get our house sold. I'm just a bit sad, because we're planning to go out of town here in a bit, and I was hoping that we could have an open house then. Guess that won't work. Unless I get really busy and learn how to do a little carpentry. LOL

Speaking of carpentry, I skipped my planned bubble bath with a book because HGTV had Design on a Dime on, and the topic was creating a library. Definitely appealed to my nerdy book-loving self. Since That Man didn't get me anything for our anniversary, I think I'll take a rain check and he can make me a library in the new house. It only cost $999 and it looked fabulous! Definitely a fair trade off for what I did for him- I made dinner, bought him a card, took him out for ice cream, and then took him for a romantic drive looking at mountain properties. Tee Hee. What can I say? I'm spoiled.

Which is why, even though it is a life sentence, I don't mind serving it. I have to admit that I am a very spoiled woman. I think my hubby is probably the only man alive who would not only put up with my quirks, but encourage them. Not a bad deal, eh? Plus, he does kinda have a cute butt. (Do NOT look at his butt to verify this statement, or else I'll gouge your eyes out)

My plan for the next eight years is to continue driving him insane, convince him that I really do need more life insurance on him, add to my list of methods of homicide, and to remember that no matter how much I really want to kill him sometimes, he is the father of my dog.

Happy Anniversary, Honey.