Blog posts are the worst valentines you can send. Worse than e-cards, worse than forwarded spam poems. But here goes anyhow.
She was young when we first met — a mere freshman, myself barely home off my mission. We immediately took to each other, then broke up almost as quickly. Once or twice a semester one of us would get lonely, call the other one up for a date, then break up again for some silly reason a couple of weeks later. After three long years, we got together and stayed together. We married in Manti on a hot summer’s day, only to have it rain later that day on our outdoor reception.
Ten years later, my feelings for her have deepened and broadened in ways I could never have imagined. She’s an understanding friend, a mentor and a guide. She knows songs for the Pythagorean theorem. She hates cauliflower. She cheats at Uno but is easily caught. She’s hopelessly dorky but full of real class. When I look at her, I know more than ever that I married “up” in every sense of the word.