I know February is supposed to be the month of love but I have a soft spot in my overly-romantic little heart for March. See, I met my husband sometime in March of 2002 (holy crap that’s a long time ago). I’m not sure of the exact anniversary because I didn’t write down in my journal, “Today I met the boy I’m gonna marry!” Mostly because I didn’t have a journal but also because I didn’t know yet. (I was pretty sure after our first date but that’s another story) 

Anyway, we met in the library, which is kind of picture perfect for a bibliophile like me and further proof that the universe approves of this relationship. And when I say, “we met in the library,” what I mean is “he met me in the library.” Because he had arranged it all that way on purpose. But again, I didn’t know any of that yet. I was sitting in the Humanities section using the giant Oxford English Dictionary for my linguistics homework (I have petitioned Matt to get one for our house for sentimental reasons and because it is awesome but since the hard copy is like 20 volumes I haven’t convinced him yet). And this super cute boy walks up to me and says,

“Hey, aren’t you in my music class?” 

And I said, “…um.” (Never seen you before in my life)

And he said, “Yeah, you definitely are. I missed class last Friday. Is there any way I could borrow your notes?” 

And I said, “Okaaaaaaaaay.” And, nonplussed, I handed them over.

And I remember sneakily checking him out and thinking, This is highly suspicious. This boy is adorable but he is either really confused or this is his sick idea of a joke. Maybe I am having a really good hair day or something because he apparently thinks I am some kind of supergirl who dates cool guys who wear smart-people glasses. Well… he’ll figure it out eventually. But maybe I should just sit back and enjoy it until he does. 

So that’s what I did. And he still hasn’t figured it out.