Schmoopy
We met when I was eighteen. The first thing I noticed were his fingernails, trim and neat. Nicer than mine, by far, with my chipped nail polish and acrylic paint underneath them.
Funny, the way life surprises you. I’d always expected to be single for a long time. When I fell in love, I thought it would be with a lean, tall, dark man. Maybe someone who went to raves or had tribal tattoos. Not this guy with a big dorky smile and killer sense of humor and beautiful hands.
Anyway, my life as it is now is mostly the aftermath of that decision: to fall in love at 18, fearlessly, and for good. And not a day goes by when I wish it had gone any differently.
Sorry, gentle reader–this is probably boring for you. Other people’s love always is, isn’t it? But for me, it’s the best thing in the world. Getting to wake up next to him, to spend every day with my best friend.
Also, hey, look, icicles!


14 comments
Yay! Icicles!
Yay!
He really has nice nails. *compares* Well. Icicles! You don't get those around here.
We lived in Florida for years, so I still marvel at all this WINTER.
This is just what I needed to make me smile on a dark, freezing February morning. Not boring at-all!
Aw, thanks, Emma. <3
If other people's love stories were boring, Nora Roberts would be out of business.
On another note: DAWWWWW! *w*
Ha, good point.
It sounds like 18-year old Phoebe was hankering for a YA love interest
(Jordan’s fingernails are nicer than mine. THIS WILL NOT STAND.)
Yes, yes I was. I was very into bad boys. Didn't really *speak* to them or anything, but still.
Fight to the death!
There's diminishing returns on embarassment!
I'm glad, Schlumpy <3
It's slightly eerie to me that the first thing that attracted me to Scott was his hands as well. Come for the hands, stay for the beard… and yet yours isn't a physicist? Weeeird.
A historian! Close, right?