Today, according to my mother (she keeps impeccable records), is the anniversary of my first date with Ed. Seven years ago. And we're still here.
Most of our time is spent less than three feet apart, twenty-four hours a day, three-hundred days a year. I get to look at that mug every day. Eddie (when I'm not on the verge of killing him) is every woman's dream. He's smart, funny, goal oriented. A hard worker, a gentle spirit, a polite gentleman. A caring partner, a sweet lover, a reliable mate.
He is loved by all. So much so, that when I'm acting up, the crowd rallies with cries of "Poor Ed!" and "Aw, don't pick on Eddie." My nephews ask to speak to him first, want to know "what's Ed doing?" I'm chopped liver when Ed's around.
I got pretty lucky when I snagged this cute guy, who at the time was just twenty-nine years old. Some would say cradle-robbing was involved. I say the cradle fell right into my lap. Our first date still remains one of the best dates I've ever been on. He even stayed in town an extra night just to see me again, a fact I didn't find out about until he called me the next day to ask what I was doing and did I want to go out again?
Sometimes when I'm sitting in the truck, I'll see a guy in the truckstop walking across the parking lot, and I'll say to myself wow, that guy is totally cute. And then I realize that "that guy" is walking towards me. That guy is MY guy.
Thanks for seven wonderful years, Spaghetti. I look forward to our future, as we have lots of plans, don't we? Just remember...
You are very loved by me.