Happy Saint Patrick’s Day! And Happy 23rd Anniversary Honey! Another sign of being a grown up is that once you are married, you no longer celebrate your dating anniversary. But celebrate we must, for it was so memorable! The keg of beer dyed green flowed freely! Did we ever get up off the couch the entire night? Even teetotaler Annie O’Maxwell appears to be a little tipsy in her clover socks, does she not? David O’Allen and Joanne O’Twite were equally festive.
You wore your checkered sport coat, unlaced steel-toed workboots, and a clover on your lapel. I wore my peasant skirt, tall black riding boots, and my heart on my sleeve. (And for years I would believe those boots to have been part of my allure, only to have you later reveal “I don’t really like boots on women. I was attracted to you in spite of the boots.” Impossible!)
“You looked so handsome and so sweet and I will never forget how big of a crush I had on you (and still have . . .)”
Perhaps it is not the gay and carefree love of our youth, but now along with the second-grader and the kindergartner, the mortgage, the real job, the home improvement projects, and twenty-odd years of uncovering and solidifying our unique personality quirks, it’s a deeper and truer love, is it not?
Love you, O’Boo.