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Five years and 8 months ago, give or take a few days, was when Grumpus and I had our first real conversation over many beers, a few cigarettes and some bar chow at a nice little establishment on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. He says the booze gave him the nerve to get my phone numbers and email address, and I guess it was the same thing that kept me yapping on through the rest of the night and early morning, even as the group made its way through the snowy streets to a 24-hour diner a few blocks away. A few days later we had our first “date”, and a couple of months later we were officially a couple.
He told me later that it was my knowledge of Frank Miller that made him fall in love with me. I think I fell in love with him because he was so tall … and grumpy … but it was fun to coax a smile out of him, and we were always laughing when we were together. Sue me, I’m a sucker for the corny stuff.
Two years and a few days after that conversation at the bar, Grumpus asked me to marry him. And three years ago today, I did.
So here’s to Grumpus, that big old softie, the love of my life. And here’s to three down, forever after to go.