I was laying on the floor of my bedroom texting and listening to whatever was playing on the television beside me. He told me that he was getting his haircut. I had just turned 16 (literally 3 days before), and I was tired of trying to give him the hint. I just came out and asked him why he wouldn’t ask me to be his girlfriend. According to him, he wasn’t sure I would say yes.
And here we are 8 years later. We are getting married in the fall.
There are a lot of reasons why I love him. I really can’t narrow it down to one specific thing.
We’ve spent the majority of our relationship growing and evolving. First into legal drivers, and then to high school graduates. We made the decision to study at different schools. We got our first apartment together, and celebrated our first “grown-up jobs.”
The poor kid has really gone through a lot for me. He suffered through acting in not one, but TWO musicals during high school, and came to see all four performances of a show I did that summer with my friends.
He rescued me when I slid into a telephone pole on the way home from school junior year. He took me back to his parents house because I was too scared to drive home.
He told me it was okay every day in trigonometry class when I couldn’t solve the equations, even as I yelled at him because I didn’t understand.
He dealt with me working weeknights and weekends practically since we started dating. When I did finally come home, I was too tired to do anything and almost always smelled like french fries.
He encouraged me to go out with my friends and have a good time, and never hesitated to pick us up when we had one too many drinks.
Most recently, he stood by my decision to quit my job without having another one lined up.
He’s funny and compassionate and so very intelligent. His sense of humor is much like my own.
Sure, he snores and his farts stink, but November 25th can’t come soon enough.