hopeless romantics

Today is our 13th anniversary. Thirteen years. 13. THIRTEEN. That’s a lot. That’s 91 in dog-years.

I gave him a physics lecture for his class tonight, he made me coffee. We’re hopeless romantics.

In other news, my mom is coming to “take care of me.”

Husband assures me she doesn’t mean in the Sopranos sense of the phrase, but it still makes me nervous. He insists she’s just going to open mail and run errands and keep me company. And, I think it goes without saying, slowly eat my sanity with a spoon.
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