Gravitation is not responsible for people falling in love

I've been thinking about marriage for a long time, as far back as I can remember. By six years of age I had my children named. I must have been reading Ramona Quimby at the time (remember how she named her imaginary daughter after Chevrolet and thought it was the most beautiful name?) It must have been a Car & Driver era because that's how I felt about Mercedes--I couldn't imagine a better name.

In my teenage years I had ideas about the traits my husband would have: rich (yup, it's a trait), smart, a business man, handsome, a take-life-by-the-horns type or older and brooding.... I'll spare you the rest.

Then I met Seth. He was younger than me and that was a strike in my book (being a cougar in THAT sense hadn't become fashionable yet). He completely lacked in the taking-life-by-the-horns and brooding departments. He had fuzzy dice hanging from his car mirror-I kid you not. That alone almost ended it. But he was cute, smart and kind. When trouble came (as it always does) his maturity and communicativeness bested mine and not by inches, but by miles. Best of all, he treated me like a princess. And he still does.

This week I toast Seth. I love you, sweetie.