The love of my life belches with utter abandon. It’s this kind of sonic barrier-shattering brrrrap! that invades your thoughts and very soul. She doesn’t hold back, ever, that I know of, but her momma brought her up right: She always says “Excuse me” afterward.

It is, oddly, one of the reasons I love her. She does darn near everything with a carefree embrace of life’s joys.

She slaps her knee when she laughs – something I didn’t know real people do.

She sings along, out loud, with musicals at the movie theater.

She carries on a conversation with just about every animal she meets. No cat in East Lawrence is a stranger to my sweetie.

She looks a little bit like Joan Cusack, the actress, when she smiles and her nose crinkles. (Or perhaps I should say: Joan Cusack looks like her.)

And she loves me with a fervor far in excess of anything I have ever deserved. Every man who has ever been loved by a good woman, I suspect, knows he is unworthy.

Thankfully, they keep on loving us.

The love of my life was unexpected. I had, a couple of years after turning 30, made a kind of peace with my bachelorhood – taking cross-country vacations by myself, for example. Shortly before I met her, I moved into a house far too small to ever share; I was surrendering to solitude.

A couple of weeks later, I wandered over to my new neighbor’s house, and there she was, visiting her sister. It all happened very quickly after that. I tend to be a skeptic about such things, but I understand now why most people believe in fate where romance is concerned.

Now I cannot imagine my life without her.

This weekend, barring some colossal screwup on my part, we’re getting married. She brings to our union a cat I have unexpectedly grown to enjoy, and a family that I have gratefully grown to love.

The love of my life did not sign on to be the subject of public journalism; you’ll be getting no “here’s the crazy thing my wife did this week!” dispatches from me. For that, both you and she will be grateful.

But I wanted to tell the world – proclaim from the very mountaintops, if possible – how much I adore her: The blue eyes, the porcelain skin, the dimples, the way she smiles at me when she knows I love her, the singing voice so beautiful I have sobbed upon hearing it – and, most importantly, the sharp and exploring mind.

I’m grateful for her. I love her.

God bless you, sweetie. I’m glad we’re getting married.