On April 18, Vince and I will be celebrating 4 years of marriage and 12 years of ridiculous happiness. I met him on April 5, 1999, on a bus filled with writers. Little did I know that the boy with the hangover and the messy long hair would become my husband and the father of my child.
Vince said he knew instantly that I was The One. Within a week of meeting, he and I had shared the most intense conversations. He wrote me poems, serenaded me, gave me chocolates and, because I am not one to waste time, I rewarded him with a kiss on April 18, just 13 days after meeting. Best. Kiss. Ever! Kissing Vince for the first time was beyond strange because that kiss felt like a life-changer, like I had been waiting all my life for that one kiss. In fairy tale parlance, it was true love's first kiss.
On Monday, it'll be 12 years of kissing. We still like kissing. We kiss so much, Vito wants to join in. He looks at his parents kissing and makes smacking sounds himself!
Twelve years. It certainly doesn't feel like 12 years. Well, I feel older now, calmer, wiser. My cellulite and fine wrinkles, my exhaustion after a long day all point out that I am definitely getting old. But when Vince kisses me, I am transformed back to that 22-year-old girl who never dreamed she'd find love but found it anyway when she least expected it. His kisses (and everything that follows the kiss!) keep me young and well and truly in love.
