Two years ago I went on a date.
It was a first date.
He was from Toronto. I lived in St. Catharines.
He drove all the way down to see me.
We didn't know each other that well yet, and first dates always make me nervous. Especially because I wasn't used to dating men so much older than me.
Being the control freak that I am, I offered to drive us around for the night. We met in a Kelsey's parking lot off the highway.
A little strange, a little new.
He had asked me what I wanted to do.
So I made him come to the lake with me and go on the swings.
I am a swing freak.
Any man that will go on swings with me on a first date - with his good shoes and swing-hating ways - is automatically a good catch.
...at least until he tells you about the time he ate a spider. But I learned to look past that.
We then went to a bar, where we managed to procur a hidden corner booth in the basement. Conversation was not a problem. A good sign.
Unbeknownst to me, a couple of my friends were there for drinks and stopped by for a moment.
I got the thumbs up. He passed the test for them.
Having just gotten out of a long-term crazy relationship, I needed more convincing.
Fast-forward two years:
Guess I quickly became convinced.
Add two dogs. One cat. An apartment. Love, stress, friendship, jobs, bickering, smiling, laughter and life. Major ups and major downs.
Happy two years, boy.
Thanks for the dates. You must've been a good kisser.