I met a tall, disarmingly handsome fella at a lovely brunch. He laughed at my jokes. He quoted Sondheim. He wasn't subtle about ogling me when I wasn't subtle about showing him the tattoo on my abs.
And now—two job changes, one new condo, one 40th birthday, six new plants, two marathons and a whole bunch of show tunes later—we're waking up alone, half a continent apart. He's in Louisville and I'm in Chicago. He'll be traveling all day and I have a whole day of meetings. And since he won't be home until tomorrow, I might go buy some stuff tonight to strip the hardware on the front door.
While it's not the most ideal second anniversary celebration, I know we still have time to spend an anniversary or two ... or 48 ... together; we made a pact that we'll give this relationship 50 years and then just cut our losses if we decide it's not working out.
Fortunately, early poll data indicate a long, happy run.