by the numbers, vol. I

Meet Madison, aka Dobby, the studious Bryan pup

208. The number of days I have had the privilege of being married to my sweet husband.

122. The approximate number of days it took for me to somewhat naturally introduce myself/sign the dotted line with Berry as my last name, rather than sounding like I chose to hyphenate my name and therefore star as a feminist/wealthy socialite in my new life. 

60. The number of pairs of shoes in this tiny apartment that are mine, including 18 pairs of heels/wedges, 32 pairs of sandals/flats, and 4 pairs of boots. Sorry I'm not sorry, husmate. But have courage: I don't have any intentions of adding to the collection anytime soon.

39. The number of days until Christmas (seems crazy, doesn't it?). Thankfully, other than for each other, this husband-wife team has finished our shopping. To my family who knows that I usually procrastinate to do my shopping until 3 days before Christmas day- be amazed...

24. The number of posts I have miraculously penned so far without quitting this blogging project. Also, my lucky number from high school for no reason whatsoever. 

23. My age despite the fact that half the time I want to tell people that I'm still 22. Also, the age that I began forgetting what my current age is and I quietly do the math in my head while keeping a pleasant smile on my face.

9. The number of pairs of shoes in this tiny apartment that are husmate's. Single digits. Why is it that men need so few shoes? I suppose to make up for their wives needing so many...

6. The number of days until we road trip 13 hours home for my favorite holiday (aka Thanksgiving, aka best meal of the year hands down) and I get to be reunited with the pup above (I'm her favorite, she's not husband's favorite).

3. The number in the Harry Potter series of my least favorite plot line, and most likely least often read. I may love the character of Sirius Black, but Prisoner of Azkaban just wasn't thrilling enough (perhaps because dear ole Voldemort didn't have a hand in it?). 

0. The number of times I've seen Elf, Home Alone, or A Christmas Story. Cue the gasps of disappointment and comments of deprived childhood.