We were very young. Twenty-two and twenty-three, in actual fact.
Neither of us wore glasses.
I was still paying off a credit card. (Sorry about that…)
We were naive enough to think the carpeting of our cheap apartment was damp because it had been steam-cleaned before we moved in. It was still damp when we moved out 18 months later…
We used dial-up internet.
We had no cell phone.
I was a pretty marginal cook.
We did all our grocery shopping together.
We ate things like macaroni and cheese and English muffin “pizzas.”
Your mother called every day for a week.
Your ex-girlfriend called. Twice.
You set her straight. Very nicely.
We fought about stupid things like where to put the cheese grater and not-so-stupid things like how soon before the due date bills should be paid.
We had no children, no expendable income and no idea we would ever leave Fayetteville.
It amazes me what eleven years can change.
And what they can’t.
You are still the man of my dreams. And I’m still the luckiest girl in the world.
I love you, babe. Your wife,
That’s a beautiful love-letter. Thanks for sharing. Eleven years on your way to a hundred!
Sherry @ No Minimalist Here says
Such a sweet post! May you have many, many happy years together.
Hello sweet Abigail – Oh my, what a sweet post. Here’s to many more wonderful years together!