Kenny Chesney Is My Bitch

Today the missus and I celebrate 11 years of wedded bliss. And by "celebrate," I mean gather 'round the vaporizer and inhale Vick's Vapo-Steam. The missus has a sinus infection on top of a really nasty month-long lupus flare, so we'll be retiring early. OK, I did bring home a box of Godiva truffles, so our taste buds are taken care of.

Thing is, we're married. We're committed. Her lupus has switched up the game, certainly, but we're 100 percent man and wife 'til death do us part, in sickness and in health, hair loss schmair loss. That's why I have nothing but contempt for all of the 5-month "marriages" I read about in the grocery line. If you have a bazillion dollars, no children, and your health, just shut the hell up. You've got no damn excuse at all. "We just couldn't make it work." Work on this, Brad and Jen and Julia and Lyle and Billy Bob and Angelina and Tom and contractually obligated She-Tom.

So, who wants the almond truffle?