Thirty-one years. Sixty-two percent of my life have I spent with this guy…so far. And yes, still in love.

I hear people use the term soul mate. Not really sure if I exactly know what that is. I mean, I could dissect and philosophize about it, I could do some research, take a Facebook survey, write a treatise…but… meh, I’m already bored with that idea.

What I will do, is tell you a little love story.

I was a fourteen-year-old boy when I met the love of my life. Well, actually I was a sixteen-year-old girl playing a fourteen-year-old boy. We met at a cast party for the musical Oliver, in which I played the Artful Dodger. I must tell you that the fact that they cast a girl in the role wasn’t for a lack of young boys who would have killed me for the part. (I had some legitimate suspicions and a little fear of my understudy, who was a tubby smartass eleven-year-old nerd-boy who “Should have had the part—besides everyone knows she only got it because she knows the director.”) Truth is, I totally nailed the audition—in full costume–complete with vintage naval formal wool tailcoat and antique beaver skin top hat, and could rock a cockney dialect like nobody’s business. It also helped that I had no boobs at the time.

Meanwhile, back at the cast party… where I met Mike… you remember, love of my life…? Back when I was a boy…? Geez, try to pay attention. Well, since I was at the party after final dress rehearsal and in full costume (classic Victorian pickpocket), my future honey-bun, who didn’t really go in for boys, he saw me and… well he didn’t really notice me at all. He was dating my girlfriend. My friend who was a girl. Is a girl. Holy crap, this has got me all gender confused. You?

Okay, well it wasn’t until we did a college production of Don’t Drink the Water together that he noticed me. Hmmm…in that one he played a gay chef and I played a nymphomaniac… perhaps we should just move on to the wedding.

Well, yes,  wait, we did live together for a couple of years before we entered into holy matrimony. I don’t know if it was still considered holy since we’d already done the deed… you know, shared the bar soap and farted in front of each other and the like. At any rate Mike’s brother, who was a pastor, performed our beautiful ceremony, with no judgment that I could detect (but likely great relief), finally making an honest man out of his philandering brother.

Our wedding took place under the willows there, just beyond the Faerie Queen’s bower on a lovely mid-summer afternoon. My handmaidens were white and yellow daisies, stark and lovely against the green and blue of the grass and sky. My father’s hands shook just a little as he held mine so tightly—I thought perhaps he wouldn’t let go. We waited in the wings for the music to begin.

With its shimmering ethereal tones, the Fender Rhodes tinkled out the opening notes and then The Lover stepped forward. Microphone in hand, the exceedingly tall and handsome Prince of the Grove fixed his eyes on his beloved and began his love song.

“There’s a wren in the willow wood, flies so high and sings so good…”

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, my lover sang to me as I floated down the aisle.

Not a dry eye in the house—or park, as it were.

Oh hell, I may as well go ahead and brag openly now… As many of you likely know, Mike is an exceptionally gifted songwriter and musician. But people let me tell you, his singing—like that of a god. I mean really ladies, and fellas too for that matter, when those magical pipes send forth that velvety voice you just wanna rip off your bra and scream out his name. As you can see I can’t stand the guy.

Seriously folks, I can honestly say that I met and married my soul mate and best friend. After thirty-one years together, we’ve still got that thang, if ya know what I mean. Still got that head-over-heels, heart racing, tickle in the tummy, out’ta the ballpark kind of love. He still tells me how hot he thinks I am, holds my hand, and open doors for me. Our marriage truly is the stuff of fairy tales and great love stories. And that, my friends is something I thank my lucky stars for every day.

Yes, we’ve had our ups and downs, like most everyone else. But the thing is, we keep on the same team. Maybe it’s worked because we remember to leave breathing room. Or cuz we talk. Naked if possible, but mostly just over coffee. Or wine. Actually, I highly recommend all three. And we laugh—cuz there’s nothing quite so healing as that. Touching is really good too.

Or maybe it’s because we’re just lucky. Maybe someday I’ll write a book about it.

For now, I’m just shouting it from the rooftops: I’M CRAZY ABOUT THIS DUDE! And so happy to have spent my life – thus far – with such an amazing, caring, understanding, and devoted partner.

Here’s to the next thirty plus, my sweet. I love you with all my heart…and other stuff.

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