An open letter to my husband

Dear Ryan,

Two years ago today was by far the most memorable of my life -- including the day I got to meet and pet a monkey. We got married. I'm sure you remember -- you were there. I can't think of any other event that has changed my life the way marrying you has. And I mean that in a good way, not a "omigod what did I do" way. You are my best friend, my hot piece of ass, my favorite comedian and my personal advisor. You save me from myself more often than not -- and don't judge me when I make colossal and avoidable mistakes. You make me feel smart and beautiful and funny and loved. Really, I only have one problem with you. You have turned me into a total sap.

Before we met I was a tough bitch. My entire shtick was centered around how a good man was hard to find and how gay men were the only ones you could trust. I actually remember saying -- with regularity -- that eventually sperm would be sold in the grocery store cold case so the species could continue with the headache of trying to find a partner. I admired the preying mantis and the black widow and considered them evolutionarily superior. My favorite way to spend an hour was to sit on the porch and talk about how much men sucked. Then you came along and blew my comfortable and caustic world all to hell. Now I watch romantic movies and sigh because they make me think of you. Is that gross, or what?

I mean, how can I complain about you? You are kind, generous, handsome, intelligent and more fun than a moon bounce full of puppies. I would rather spend an evening dancing in the kitchen with you and Sally than going out to the most fabulous party alone. You have expanded my world -- and not just because of our wonderful adventures around the globe. You get me outside of my comfort zone -- and then make me stay there until I feel at ease.

Even if I wanted to complain about you -- I doubt I could get anyone to listen. My Mother is not kidding when she says she'll miss me if we ever break up. When I arrive at a party alone I am asked at least a dozen times where you are. I think some people have really considered rescinding their invitations when they discover I'll be coming stag because you are out of town.

I love building a life with you. I can't wait to meet our children and figure out new and exciting ways to screw them up. I mean, look what we've done to our dog. She's certifiable. I also can't wait to see the rest of the world with you. Turkey, India, Greece, the Galapagos Islands -- the list of places we still have to see goes on and on.

You know what though? Even if we never go anywhere again. If we never have kids and we spend the rest of our days sitting on the porch eating peanut butter straight from the jar -- I'll be happy. I'll be with you. But the peanut butter better be chunky...

I love you.

Libby