In one more hour it will be Valentine's Day--ever an overcelebrated holiday. I used to hate it. I remember in middle school, there would always be a dance that only made me lonlier.
However, this particular Valentine's Day, will be spent again with Frank. Our fifth year of celebrating together. It marks our fifth year together, really.
Five years.
I wonder who would have guessed it.
I remember it. Our plans to see the Promise Ring foiled by a car crash. Our idea to go bowling spoiled by the multitude of toothless hicks at Weiland's Bowling alley. My idea that Tab might be good disproved with a single gulp. A car that smelled of butterscotch (and how I miss the ill-fated 1986 Ford Tempo) leaving and reentering the city limits, teasing us with the thought of leaving. I'm sure that not many people end their dates watching Porky's with their dads.
Things are much different five years later. Cohabitation outside the confines of our hometown. Shared bed, shared lives, shared expenses. We surround ourselves with clutter. We've since gone bowling. We've since seen the rock show. We've since seen the country, or least some of its highlights. We've since seen a few different cars, even one with me driving it. We know what it's like, see. We know what we're like. We know, we know.
We know it's right.