Mr. R. and I have had this conversation once or twice (or a million times, who’s counting?). We met in our forties and had three failed marriages between us. If only, we’ve speculated, we’d met years before. What if we’d met in our twenties? We could have saved ourselves so much heartache, so much misery. We could have been as happy as we are now for all this time.
I’m sad sometimes that we’ll never make it to our Golden Anniversary. And there are moments (okay, brief and perhaps fueled by sauvignon blanc) when I wish that in addition to our three combined children, we’d had a child together.
But the truth is that years ago, I wasn’t ready to meet my ‘happily ever after.’ I was too young and too stupid. There were miles I needed to travel, potholes I needed to bottom out in, and breakdowns I needed to grow through. So I guess I’ll settle for my twelve-year-old Honda and intensely appreciate the man of my now dreams.
Adventures in Date Night 
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