On this day, 18 April 2014, I can claim to be married for twenty years, 16 days, and no, I have no idea how many hours. It is actually quite amazing that I had remembered the date for this post. Yep, my husband is the one that remembers dates, I am useless when it comes to these things. I am good with numbers, but not dates.
Hopefully hubby won't mind being a Plus 1 for a few moments, so let me tell you a bit about him. His name is Francois Venter and he is an engineer too. We went to the same high school, but didn't date back then since we are not the same age (I am two years older). We started dating at university and got married in the week that he had a birthday and got his degree – trust me, it was a real busy week that year!
We worked together for the first few years of our marriage, we shared an office with two other engineers, before our careers started diverging. He still works as an engineer, while I branched out into consulting and project management.
His passion is photography, and he is very good. Biased am I? Maybe, but the awards, red ribbons and medals that hang on the walls in my living room, all agree with me on that score. You can see some of his photographs here.
The funniest thing is however the two of us going to the shops, typically on a Friday evening after work, to stock up for the next week. We would traverse the isles - him pushing the trolley, me picking out food – and then we would whine and complain and chat about our workday. I mean who doesn't do that?
The two of us however, talk about weapons and bombs and explosives and firing trials and stuff like that. Since I work in the military industry, and he works at a commercial company that designs and manufactures detonators and blasting equipment for mines, our talks are normal – for us.
For everyone else shopping with us, it might sound like we are planning the end of the world. It is really funny watching people's faces if they overhear our conversations. Of course, we don't talk about classified things – commercial companies have those too – but it remains a treat. We vent on each other's shoulders, and our audience, well, who knows what they are thinking?
Who is going to win the rugby on Saturday? Probably :)