So Sunday was our first wedding shower. People like to ask how we met.
I’m not sure.
We met about 10 years ago, somewhere on campus. We were dating other people.
The not-remembering used to bother me. Now I like to think we were living in V formation, starting far apart but always heading to the same place, together.
Did that sound good? Yeah? Complete and utter crap.
I wish I could go back in time to that first meeting and whisper to my Younger Self, “Pay attention … You are going to be so in love with this man. When you’re sick and begging him to stay away because of the grossness–the grossness!– he will not stay away. He will come with loaded potato soup and medicine and DVDs. He will rub your bloated, dead-fish feet voluntarily at the end of every work week. He will tuck a flower in your hair and make you dinner. He will tell you you’re beautiful. He will dance with you in the living room, in the kitchen. You will have more fun with him than you’ve ever had with any other person. You will tell him things you’ve never told anyone. You will go to sleep with him singing to you and wake up to him smiling at you. And he will say he’s the lucky one.”
I do not remember how I met him, but I will always remember how lucky I am that I did.
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