Len and my third anniversary was on Sunday. Romantics that we are, we celebrated by ordering pizza from Aggies in Napoleon, watching the Sopranos and part of Big Love and then going to bed. I did make a cake, but we haven't eaten any yet.
Our first date was Wednesday, April 9, 2003. Len was working for his friend's delivery service and would bring the mail from our main building every day. At some point I decided he was cute. I had also decided I didn't want to date and I didn't care that I didn't want to date. But I wanted to know what his name was. I asked our secretary, Terri, who had just gotten married, and was in "everyone-needs-to-be-in-love" mode. She forced me to let her give Len my phone number. Looking back on it, I'm really surprised he called, anti-social as he is. But he did. We couldn't get together for a week or so -- I was in the middle of some big school projects, and his mother was out of town, so he was "babysitting" his father -- so we talked on the phone and at work. Easy. It was all so easy (except, you know, the day after he called the first time, and I freaked out when I saw him because I was so nervous. But you know. That's normal for a 36 year old.) By the time we went out, I wasn't nervous at all.
And I knew. You know that list you make, the I'd-never-date-someone-who-Shortcoming list? Forget it. Because you would. Because when you look in his eyes across the table, you will realize that none of the crap on that list matters. Because he is Right. He is the One. And that is what matters. He isn't perfect. But he is for me.
Then he took me home to meet his 4 pound, one-eyed, old as dirt, cancer survivor cat. And any doubts I might have had? Gone.