The ones who still celebrate the anniversary of “this-is-when-we-started-dating”. It might be corny, but I’ve always loved corny. Corny with extra cheese is my favorite.
Because it’s fun.
Because it reminds us of where and why we started.
And because taking time to celebrate the past gives us that extra “oomph” to keep holding hands and pressing forward.
For the past three years, our dating anniversary has fallen during the Italy mission trip in Milan. How lucky can a girl get, right?
Each time, hubby has carved out an evening for a date.
It’s just us two, walking arm in arm to some restaurant close by. We order wine. We dip bread in the oil that always tastes better here and we struggle to pronounce our food.
I sit and look at this man and think how blessed I am.
Our Crem Caramel della casa arrives, and it tastes like Mexican flan. Apparently, the hubby doesn’t like flan but never knew. We giggle about it and I finish the whole thing.
I remember our first date-that-wasn’t-a-date, before I knew he liked me. We sat at the coffee shop with a pastry between us, our forks plucking away at both ends. I refused the last bite. I took half. He laughed and took half. I took half again.
He thought I was ridiculous, but it was my family’s way. Now, with the finished crem, I guess we’re forming new ways.
Later we walk to another restaurant so he can have dessert. Chocolate mousse pie with candied pear on top. Takeout? Yes, thank you, we say.
There were no pictures. It was devoured too fast.
It seems unreal. Five years? My heart spills over with thanks for you, babe. I feel so hopeful for the next five years.
Scratch that–I meant the next five decades.