My One and Only

Yesterday, September 18, marked the six-year anniversary of Husband and my relationship. Perhaps I should start from the beginning?

Husband was a senior at Middle-of-the-Cornfields High School when I was a freshman. He claims to have thought I was cute and tried to talk to me at that time, but one of my only memories of him from that year is when he played a scary Russian policeman in Fiddler on the Roof while I played the second youngest daughter, Shprintze. We also performed together in front of the local elementary students in The Princess and the Pea that spring. He was the king, and I was the princess.

Forward two years.

We begin chatting online, getting to know one another slowly over the months. Finally, I got up the courage to go on a date with him, live and in person. Turns out, I liked him better that way. After a few more dates, near-death experiences in my car (he is very brave), and evenings spent watching movies (or me falling asleep during movies on his shoulder) at each others' homes, he suggested we become exclusive. And, I guess, that's all she wrote.

Husband is my first sweaty hand hold, my first "I Love You," my first kiss; Husband is my first everything. When I explain our history in person, I always feel the need to justify and defend why it was okay for me not to take a break from the person that forever changed my life just to experience other boyfriends. However, this is my blog, and I don't have to defend anything to anyone. Sometimes, you just get it right the first time; We did. We have six years of proof that we're the right match for one another. I'm expecting about seventy more.