7654321: dispatch from the bread line, day 18

Seven years married;

Six moves, often a la the Baltimore Colts;

Five cars plowed through, sometimes literally;

Four jobs worked;

Three states lived in;

Two beans;

One wife.

Without the love, support and seemingly boundless strength and grace of wife, I would not be the person I am or have anything to work toward. Someday, I’ll have a job that will allow me to drop the beans off at Grandma and Papa’s and we can have a proper honeyversacation at some exotic locale. In the meantime, enchiladas and good times with family will have to do.

At least the enchiladas are really, really good.

Love you, wife. Happy anniversary.


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