A friend of mine sent "our running group" an e-mail earlier this week inviting all of us to gather together for a "Valentine's Lunch" on Friday the 13th. The chosen venue sounded promising, and we had all been asked to bring our favorite love story to share. So, I joined the group. I did not share my favorite love story at lunch. It is more just for me than for anyone else. But, I have decided to put it here. All names have been removed (to protect the innocent, of course), but I know who "he" is, and so does "he."
My favorite love story happens every day. Yes, it is a profound example of cheesy and I don't tell him as often or as appropriately as I should, but he loves me every day even when I am not very lovable - much less likable on occasion. Ever since I leaned out of a second story window to find a "cop" on my front sidewalk, he has loved me. Even when I growled at him the day before our wedding, he loved me. Even when I stomp and storm and fuss and fight, he loves me. When I don't keep things neat; when dinner is frozen chicken fingers; when I run out the door for yet another extracurricular activity, he loves me.
There you have it. My favorite love story. I hope it remains my favorite until "death us do part."
With all that many of our group have endured over the past years (since August, 2006) I find it simply amazing that we are still (mostly) well-adjusted, functioning members of society. Thank you, my friend, for including us in your personal demon-chasing celebration of a day that is vastly over-marketed to those who are not strong enough to express love on their own accord.
Have a great weekend, and thank you, again, for getting us together as a group for a reason none of us would have expected.