Seven years ago, mAc flew to Denver from Seattle to visit me. Seven years ago I was working at this agency as a promotions coordinator for a boss who promised the people who applied for my job after I left, "You WILL cry at this job." Seven years ago I was easily 20 lbs lighter and was rocking size 8 black stretch pants, a red top and black pumps because I wanted to look hot for the guy I'd been crushing on since August. Seven years ago, I escaped my sucky job in the afternoon, hopped into my red '85 VW Scirroco, then got stuck on east-bound I-70, cursing the construction and the traffic getting in my way and slowing down my trek to Denver International Airport. Seven years ago the airport was still relatively new and the parking situation was jacked, and I had to stash my car in the furthest possible parking space before running into the airport.
Seven years ago, security at the airport was much different, and I was able to haul ass all the way to the gate. And that's where, seven years ago, I spied mAc, waiting patiently, playing with a yo-yo, looking as handsome as I remembered. I ran up to him, all apologies and breathless from running, and he smiled, said, "Come 'ere," and that's when, seven years ago, we kissed for the first time.
See, I TOLD you it was one of the most romantic stories around.
I know now we're married we're supposed to celebrate our wedding anniversary & all, but I don't think I'll ever stop remembering October 20 as the date of our first kiss, our first date, our first realization that this might be more serious than either of us ever thought it would be.
So happy anniversary, baby! I'm still so happy you came out to Denver seven years ago. And I'm still sorry that I showed up late.
Us, seven years ago.
1 comment:
That IS totally romantic!
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