It was 20 years ago today.
(Not when Sergeant Pepper taught the band to play).
On February 13, 1999, Matt and I went on our first date.
I asked him if he would pick me up in a red Mustang convertible and waltz in carrying roses and a box of candy, just like he did then.
“Stop,” he said. “I can’t compete with 16-year-old me.”
But I did drag out the dress I wore back then (one of the few I kept, which fits only because stretch) and we went back to the restaurant where our first date began. We didn’t try to relive the dance we attended back then. I’ve been through with partying like it’s 1999 for a while now.
We reminisced a bit about the past 20 years over our crab rangoon. Every personality profile we’ve ever taken has marked us incompatible, and yet we still make one another laugh and generally enjoy life together. We agree on the important things, like family, faith, and buttered popcorn Jelly Bellys.
And when we finally decided to abandon our fortune cookies and return to our kids to craft Valentine’s Day boxes, we realized our sweet friends had picked up our tab. 💕
Thanks for being mine for 20 years, Matt! You infuriate me and bring me joy and gave me three lovely kids. I think I’ll keep you for at least 20 more.
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