Disclaimer: Mushy, Girly Stuff Ahead

Well, this will be as mushy and girly as I can manage without actually throwing up on my laptop.  I'd like to avoid that since a couple of the keys on my keyboard already stopped working due to one of my cats thinking it was dragging ass and needed some coffee on it.

Today, three years ago, I tricked a poor, unsuspecting boy into being my boyfriend.  I don't know how I did it, and I'm sure if you asked him how, he'll tell you he blacked out and doesn't remember any of the conversation that led him down this path.  Sucker.

Look how cute we were when we first met.  Before he knew that girl was going to one day start collecting pets and I knew that boy would never look at me the way he looks at his motorcycle.  Sigh.  Fools in love. 

I definitely won't pretend to be a relationship expert, but we are both alive and have all of our limbs, so I
might just know a thing or two about how to make one work.  If you'd like to know what makes our weird little union work oh so well, please, keep reading. 

Now, we all know one of the most important parts of a relationship is compromise.  Here are a few ways we do so:

1.  He likes Bud Light, I like Miller Lite, meaning we can't share a pitcher of beer at a bar.  Compromise?  He gets to order the Bud Light, I drink wine instead, he pays for it.

2.   I love taking pictures, he hates taking pictures.  Compromise?  Somebody takes pictures of me chasing him around trying to get him to pose.

Money always seems to be a pretty big arguing point in a lot of relationships, I'm assuming this definitely has gotten worse over time due to a recession I heard somebody talking about the other day.  Since him and I don't share a last name, although they are both obnoxiously long and a pain in the ass to sign, my money is my money and his money is his money.  He never gets a bank statement showing him just how many lives I bought in Candy Crush this month with my money and he buys me wine with his money.  Plus, I really don't feel like explaining why the cat's need a $200 cat condo and I need four different magazines with the same cover story on it.  Seriously?  I don't want to miss the royal baby's birth and why do you need a boat?   See, I've already started our first real fight just thinking about sharing money.

And I wasn't joking about our first 'real' fight either.  I'm actually proud of that one.  I mean, there's the occasional arm crossing, eye roll, and 'Are you kidding me right now?' mostly (entirely) from his end, but as long as he isn't telling me I can't have another cat and I'm not getting another cat anyways, we're good.  Plus, if anybody even looks like they might be thinking about yelling at me I immediately start bawling.  This is a new little defense tactic I developed about six months before I met him.  My crying makes him really uncomfortable, and voila, fight over .  Hey, it works for us.  I just really hope it's not because I do Kim Kardashian Ugly Cry and it scares him.

Jesus.

Finally, we both knew what we were getting into when we started living in sin.  I was going from living with a very neat girl who made me dinner (what up, Sheila Shine!), to living with a smelly boy who made me dinner.  And he was getting a weird little vegan girl to kind of do his laundry.

Seriously, one of those two always makes/buys me food.  It's pretty fantastic.  So, I'm still well fed and he's stuck with a girl who would rather chew off her own arm than fold socks.  Guess the joke's still on him.

And now for the girly part:  Happy Anniversary you sweet, sweet boy.  I love you to the moon and back, and thank you for the favorite three years of my life so far.

I was woman enough to stay with you post-beard, so please, please don't make me start folding socks.  It seriously makes me want to die.  You're my favorite.