You know what today is, right?
Yeah. Holy shit.
Sorry. I know cussing is only for special occasions like the Superbowl and visiting your family. But still. HOLY SHIT, RAND.
I think we might need to count them, to make sure it’s actually true.
We. Were. SO. DAMN. YOUNG.
Remember how you couldn't kiss me without all those little hearts popping out of your head?
Notice how I didn't post a photo of the fauxhawk? You're welcome.
Returning home from a weekend trip to SF, summer 2005
Aaaaaand, FINALLY. The facial hair appears.
This is when we were scouting out wedding locations. The picture is blurry because I was drunk.
By now I had gotten the distinct impression that you liked me.
Yeah, it's official: You DEFINITELY have a thing for me.
Okay, FINE. Maybe it's a weensy bit mutual.
I bet you were expecting another kissing photo, huh?
I’m ready to re-up our contract for at least another year or seventy.