Schmoopy

Posted on January 31, 2012 by Phoebe 14 Comments

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!

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