Today is our 11th wedding anniversary, and it also marks about 17 years that Sir Monkeypants and I have been together. I’d like to avoid grossing you all out with a mushy gushy post, but the truth is, I really love the guy, and I’m happy to say so. He’s definitely the anchor of our family, keeping me calm when I’m on the verge of freaking out, letting the kids use his body as a jungle gym, and giving up hours and hours of potential Star Trek watching on the weekends just so he can soundproof our baby’s new room. This year, for the first time, he actually has a handful of grey hairs on his head, which only makes him look more handsome. Plus he still has a cute butt.

We have a babysitter booked for tonight — every year, we trade anniversary babysitting services with our friends, Mr. and Mrs. Carl Sagan. For a couple of weeks now, we’ve been trying to decide what to do. We aren’t really up for anything overly dramatically romantic; it’s just not our style. And I’ve been so tired lately, we know it’s going to be an early night. All we know for sure is that we want the festivities to include lots and lots of sugar, preferably in an exciting new format called “chocolate cake.” And maybe even a five-dollar shake on the side.

We were going to head downtown for fancy dessert and a walk around the market, but it’s pouring rain outside, and all the fancy dessert places have a universal “may contain” rule about nuts, which cause Sir Monkeypants to break out in hives, and I’m thinking, unromantic as we are, a trip to the emergency room isn’t tops on my list of anniversary activities. So I think instead we might just go to the movies, and then out for some shakes at a nearby burger place.

But no matter what we do, I’m really looking forward to seeing all evening, just us. And lots of sugar.