When I started this little blog thing, I promised that I would never speak of my children. My wife and I have raised our children outside of the glaring spotlight of my art career and would never willingly submit them to its burning heat.

The anniversary of our marriage is coming up soon. My wife reminded me of this today as we were heading home, walking up a steep hill after enjoying a well earned afternoon of liquor at dog beach. With our 14 year old dog's leash in one hand and about 4 pounds of dog shit wrapped in a plastic Wal-Mart bag in the other, I asked "What day is that? September 13th?". She remained silent.

For about a third of a second, I thought that I was gonna catch hell for not remembering our wedding date. "September 18th?" I blurted out. She still remained silent.

"September 28th?", I asked. She remained silent and I knew the jig was up. She had no fucking idea when we were married. I had no idea either but that was not the point. "You don't know when we were married, do you?", I asked her.

"Well, it was at the end of September I think", she said.

Our wedding day is like my wedding ring. Lost in the sands of time. Yep, I have no fucking idea where I put my wedding ring. I used to leave it in the empty ashtray of my Chevy Caprice, but I haven't driven that car since 1999. I looked a couple of years ago and the ashtray is empty.

Oh well, I don't hate my wife for not remembering when our wedding anniversary is. Nope, not at all. Because it really doesn't matter, every night is still like our wedding night. She is usually found naked and throwing up in the bathroom while I still can't seem to maintain an erection. It's all good.