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 :)
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