I Married Clark Kent.

Which, based on my unhealthy Superman infatuation, means – I win.

So, Steve saw this photo and said, “Babe…you’re kind of overdoing this whole ‘me being a saint’ thing on your blog.” I said, “whoa, buddy, I never said you were a saint. Where are these delusions of grandeur coming from?” He shook his head at me and walked away.

Moving on. So what does it mean? It means I married the mild-mannered, slightly geeky (yet really hot) guy…who is actually a super hero (if being a super hero involves putting up with 17 years of my bullshit without giving in to the urge to smother me with a pillow). Our 17-year anniversary was yesterday and I went to Tahoe for a bachelorette party. Steve was un-phased. Super hero.  He’s watched all five hours of the Pride and Prejudice mini-series (which is fantastic) with me. More than once. Super hero. He’s even dressing up for Comic Con with me in San Diego this year. (Yes, he’s a geek and totally wants to go to Comic Con…but dressing up with me? That definitely falls into the humoring my shenanigans category.)

And need proof on the ‘slightly geeky’ thing? Yesterday, on Facebook, he posted that after 17 years, I’m “still the droid he was looking for.” Which is nerd gold, in my opinion.  

Anyway, this is my post to say “Happy Anniversary” and “thanks for not whining about me ditching you on our anniversary.” And, seriously, get over yourself. Just because I compare you to Superman doesn’t mean you should get an over-inflated sense of self-importance.