Once upon a time, there lived a girl. She had just about made peace with the idea that perhaps it would be okay if she never married, never met her prince, never had the happily ever after she’d wanted since she was young. She even decided that if she’d got to a certain age, she’d visit a sperm bank and have a baby. She was okay with the idea, really.
It was at that point that she met the boy. He was cute. He was funny, sarcastic, mildly annoying, a bit arrogant, and very smart. After all, he liked the girl.
They met in a comedy writing class at the Acme theater in Los Angeles. They shared a scene together involving slushees, a goldfish, and one of them stripping a shirt off. It was just like in all the fairy tales she’d read as a kid… wait…
Boy and girl went on a date. Boy and girl fell. It didn’t take long for them to figure out this was the real deal. On their first anniversary, boy asked girl to marry him in a grand proposal involving serenading her. She didn’t need any time to think about it. She said yes! And then, shortly after that, she puked, but that’s not the important part of the story (although she did it twice, hanging out of the front seat of the car… now that’s romantic!).
One year later, boy and girl were wed. It was a beautiful ceremony in San Diego with their close friends and family. They had a lovely honeymoon in Maui, and went on to have many adventures together.
They went to Europe together, had a beautiful baby boy, bought a house, had a beautiful baby girl, sold the house and bought a bigger one, had another beautiful baby girl, and have yet to write the rest of their story. Here’s to another lucky thirteen!
Thanks for 13 great years, baby!