My husband hates ice. It’s a quirk. If a drink is incredibly hot (say, freshly brewed iced tea) he may consent to a single chunk of ice.

So, in the time I’ve known him, he’s shared many an ice cube with me. When we are at someone’s house and they fix drinks, filled to the brim with ice. Or when a fast food employee doesn’t understand that “light ice” means “light ice”, well, then I usually graciously take some of his excess. I’m nice like that. Oh, and I happen to like icy, freezing cold, dripping with condensation drinks. It works you know. Jack Sprat could eat no fat…whatever. (Weird I know, but I also detest the fatty parts of meat and always give them away to Josh. I quote this nursery rhyme all the time. Oh, and I guess Josh isn’t the only quirky member of our family!)

Well, a few nights ago, I had freshly brewed iced tea (Yes, we are very southern. Iced tea is a staple around here.). I mean, it came from the stove to the pitcher to the table. It really needed ice. In my opinion, a full cup of ice.

My daughter was setting the table, and since the members of our immediate family are accustomed to this quirk of my husbands, she had put a single cube of ice in his cup. She then filled the rest of the cups with ice as usual. When Josh poured his tea, he realized that one cube of ice wasn’t going to do the job. Problem? Our ancient refrigerator doesn’t have an ice maker. So we use trays. And we were out of ice.

So, since I’m so kind, and because Josh didn’t really ask me, I let him have he took one of my ice cubes.

When he confessed what he’d done, I just laughed and said, “I suppose over all the years I’ve taken a few more of your ice cubes…it’s okay.”

This is when the epiphany took place. You see, we both realized, at the same time, that I said over all the years. This is new. It’s always been over the months, or last year, or something seemingly recent. All of a sudden I’m referring to years ago when I’m discussing our relationship. And it was true. It has been a few years now.

Boy did that go fast.

So, here’s the question. How long exactly did you feel like a newlywed?

I mean, I still consider myself a newlywed. I feel like one anyway. It’s almost been two years since Josh and I married. We hung out/dated a year before that. So we have a total of three years history…almost.

Do any of you still feel like newlyweds after years? Maybe many years, like eight, ten or twenty? I’d love to know what you have to say. Oh, and I’d love to know why you still feel that way. Anyone feel like humoring me?