What planet are you from?
While lying in bed with Mr. WednesdayBeforeLast, I joked that our good relationship was ruining my bitch-about-LA-dating writing career. And then he gave me some material from out of this world.
“Don’t we have an anniversary coming up?” he asked.
What guy do you know remembers an anniversary? They can’t even remember their own mother’s birthday. They will remember where they boned you, or a sexy outfit you were wearing before they boned you… but a specific date? Get out.
Now the only reason I knew the calendar date was because I blogged our first meeting. I’ve never been one of those girls that knows the minutes and seconds of their relationship duration in local and Greenwich Mean Time. I’m the girl who says “I don’t know, we met sometime after the rainy season, but before flip flop weather.” I don’t track time because, let’s face it, I rarely have a live one that makes it to date three.
But now I do and I have to say, when he kissed me and said “happy anniversary baby,” the once alien phrase seemed bittersweet.
While I’m still not ready to be a counter, I do wonder how I’ve lived 14,200 days, 6.5 hours and 40 seconds without a guy this fabulous.