Keith

I married him. It’s true. This is one of my favorite pictures; I don’t know why. It just sums him up so well.

Not really. Keith is a complex individual. I love the picture because it makes me laugh every time I see it.

He really is a handsome fella. He’s good at math too. And at showing up the Disney World employees with his balloon animal skills.

Keith loves real animals, too.

He loves reptiles.

And birds.

And insects named Steve.

And mammals.

And plants.

He gardens like nobody’s business. He likes dirt. And dirt likes him. Yet he’s a software developer. He wears a tie to work. He’s what you might call technologically savvy.

Keith’s artistic, too. He does woodturning, and is a budding photographer. He’s got imagination to spare. Yet he’s science-minded, logical, methodical.

He’s assertive, but kind. He’s intelligent, but humble. Tough but fair.

It’s all a very delicate balance.

Here he is, finding his way out of the depths of the African jungle.

Or Disney’s Animal Kingdom; I forget which.

He survived by blending in.

The scary thing, though, is that Keith knows all of my faults. It’s one thing to know someone’s quirks — quirks can be endearing. But faults, good lord. I’m irritating and strange and nonsensical and weird in a lot of ways. But he claims that he still likes me. Which I guess makes me pretty lucky in a lot of ways, too.

Plus he’s tall enough to reach the top shelves in the kitchen. And that’s reason enough to use delicious baked goods to get him to stick around until his next birthday.