Two words that don’t seem to go together, like Domestic Terrorism.
April 20th, I’ve been married 33 years. It should go without saying that I was a mere fetus when I wed.
This anniversary, we spent considerable time trying to discover what was the correct 33rd anniversary present. You know, that list stationary stores, etiquette mavens and new brides keep track of.
25 is silver. 50 is gold.
What could 33 be?
Turns out, at our house, the 33rd Anniversary present goes like this. I’ll get what I want and pretend it comes from you and you do likewise.
He got a welding helmet.* I got a dress and two books. And we went out to dinner and talked about what we thought when we first got married and laughed and laughed.
We were going to live in a geodesic dome house and drive a CJ5.**
Now, since looking stuff up is one of the things I do best, I found the list.
Published by the Chicago Public Library, divided into traditional and modern classifications, the list reaches to a staggering 100 years. Can we imagine being married 100 years?***
Turns out there is no traditional gift for the 33rd anniversary. I believe this is because, traditionally, people did not live long enough to be married 33 years.
The modern gift is an amethyst.****
32nd is a conveyance. I didn’t get one of those either.
41st is land. Improved real estate is the gift for the 42nd anniversary. I guess, first you get the land, then the house.
43rd is travel, but 44 is groceries. It must suck to be married 44 years.
47 is books. Guess I’m ahead of myself there.
The big prize at 100 is a ten carat diamond. Ought to be a parade.
In fact, I think, couples should get a parade, every year they stay married. It would keep marching bands in practice.
*Aren’t I a clever gift-giver?
****I think I was gypped.