My husband and I are coming up on our 17th wedding anniversary. It has stiff competition in our house.
Our anniversary falls in late August, when summer is ending, school is starting, and football season is looming. My husband’s fantasy-football league has been around since he graduated from college, so, in the hierarchy of his affections, it was technically his first wife. The Philadelphia Eagles pre-date his birth, which makes them less a team than a birthright. By the time football season arrives, I am not so much a wife as a mistress.
