Because we were celebrating, I didn’t get a chance to post this yesterday. This week marks 13 years (seriously?) with this guy.
13 years ago, Brian sat on a bench with me in Triangle Park and said, “Would you... maybe... if it’s ok... maybe... could we... maybe... call this... a date?” I said, “Yes. Did you think this wasn’t a date?”
Three years later, Brian proposed to me in our kitchen on Mill Street. He’d hidden the ring in the most Brian-like location: on top of the kitchen cabinets.
Eight years ago, we got really dressed up to make some big promises to one another. I barely remember anything but staring at Brian with heart eyes all day. I thought that was the happiest day of my life, but now I wake up every morning more in love and thankful for him than ever.
Yesterday, we told each other that it doesn’t feel like it’s been 13 years at all. The time has flown by and, as Brian said, “I’m glad it hasn’t been a long, slow drudge.” I followed with, “I know. You don’t annoy me at all... in any of the important ways.”
Happy Anniversary, Bear.
She snuggles, hard, all night right next to me. I'm always on the very edge of the bed in the morning, but I never care.
She knows how to whisper. She follows me around just to lick my hand when I'm sick, and she gives huge, paintbrush kisses when I'm sad. She won't fetch, but she'll bring the ball back to your general vicinity to show it off, and thinks rain is just swimming on land.
Happy Birthday, Bernie. You are so loved.