#2 - go to a Cirque du Soleil show

This is Ricky.

He's 25, loves the Yankees, takes out the garbage, does his own car repair, and enjoys wearing three-piece suits.  I know what you're thinking: "This guy may have all the appearances of being the best husband of all time, but does he really have what it takes?"

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, he certainly does.  I present into evidence Exhibit A:

These are tickets to Cirque du Soleil.  Cirque.  Du.  Freaking.  Soleil.

Eight years ago, I spent New Year's with my family at my grandparents' house in Miami.  Because grown-ups are bound by law to drag their children to boring, grown-up parties that said children would rather not attend, I spent the first few hours of New Year's Eve down the street at a stranger's house being a mopey teenager.  After I had dutifully served my time, I cajoled my parents into letting me go back to my grandparents' house, at which point I enthusiastically began AIMing all my friends back home. (Remember when AIM was cool?  Yeah, me neither.)

At some point during the hours leading up to midnight I realized that I had an entire large house to myself and that this was a pretty cool thing.  I decided to try my hand at turning on the television, which was no small task before the majority of Americans discovered the wonders of the universal remote.  After turning the stereo, satellite, DVD player, VCR, television, and multiple other electronics on-and-off in varying sequences with the half-dozen remotes in front of me, I magically (seriously, I still have no idea how I managed to do this) found the TV and satellite on at the same time and actually producing real television shows.  

I probably don't need to tell you that nothing good is on television on New Year's Eve except the ball dropping.  I think Carson Daly may have been doing one of those "Countdowns of Some Decade" or whatever they're called, but that's irrelevant.  What is relevant is that the fates (and remotes) aligned in my favor after hardly a minute of channel-surfing to bring me to what was truly the most amazing thing I had ever seen: Cirque du Soleil.

It was a marathon of some of their greatest shows, and I was transfixed.  The "no eye movement, no bathroom breaks" kind of transfixed.  I missed the ball drop--I didn't care.  I had forgotten to put up an away message--I didn't care.  I watched Cirque du Soleil for six hours.  It never got old.

From that moment on, I have written "Go to a Cirque du Soleil show" on literally every single bucket list I have ever made out for myself (which are many, because I love making lists).  Earlier in the year, I discovered that Kooza was coming to Miami--a place that was only two hours away from the town we were moving to, and the place that I first discovered Cirque du Soleil--but I dismissed the thought after we moved because Ricky and I were (are) poor and tethered to existence only by the cruel leash of Stafford loans.  

So when 1:30 on the morning of my birthday rolled around, I certainly was not expecting to find two tickets to the show under my pillow (I'm a compulsive pillow-fluffer).  I'm not sure what Ricky was expecting, but I do know it wasn't me hitting him in the face with said pillow yelling "SHUT UP!!" (Which I did.)  He was probably expecting kisses and eternal gratitude and praises of his craftiness in keeping them a surprise, which, of course, came after the pillow-hitting.

When I nervously turned to Ricky and asked if he was sure we could afford it, he said, "Of course we can't!  But I realized that soon we'll have full-time jobs and children and I won't be able to do things like this with you...so I want to make the most of it.  Happy birthday!"

And that, my friends, is why Ricky Jensen is the best husband of all time.

#2, in progress!  The show is in November.  Check back for how amazing it was.