Six months ago, I strapped myself into a pair of Spanx, a bra that lifted, separated, and made miracles occur in my general chest region, and zipped up a ruffled dress you picked for me.  I stepped into four inch heels, tidied your cuff links, and waited in the little back room of an art gallery for the music to start.

If I think back to our wedding, that 20 minutes we spent hiding out, watching our guest arrive through a bent-down blind, drinking a glass of nerve-steeling champagne, those are the twenty minutes that I remember most about that day, since everything else passed in a complete blur I still can’t slow down with my mind.

In that twenty minutes, you held my hand, just like you have every moment since then.

In that twenty minutes, you looked me in the eye and told me I was beautiful, and I didn’t doubt you then.  I try my very hardest not to doubt you these days when you say the same thing, because for reals, you have never lied to me.

In that twenty minutes, you got ready to make some very big promises to me, and you’ve kept them, every single one.

I realize it’s a bit over the top to write a post commemorating our six month anniversary, but this is the first time I’ve ever done this, so here you are.  I love you.  Here’s hoping we’re lucky enough to have a million more anniversaries.

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