Eight years ago today, Dh came over to my apartment for a relaxed evening of fun between friends. I cooked him dinner (veal parmigiana) and we played Life, and I drank a whooooole lotta wine because he didn't care for the Pinot Noir I bought. He drank beer, but a whole lot less than I did.
We got to talking in late hours, and the talk centered around what we both liked in the opposite sex. Which eventually led to how much we liked each other, which led to a drunk kiss.
Which led to where we are now.
Pretty happy, even when he does stupid stuff like not read a bill carefully and gets our cable shut off for fifteen minutes inadvertently. And even when I do stupid things like set the oven on fire or start a fire with the flue closed.
Eight years. Long ride. Still love him.