How I Met My Other
Okay, here it goes...
the story of k and k.
The first memory I have of you, we were still in elementary school. I've told you this story before; the one where I chased you around the playground trying to steal your ball cap from your blonde head. When I was victorious in my quest to catch up to you, one of your friends (still can't remember who) turned to me and yelled "Leave him alone!" which then put me on the verge of tears as he took the hat from my grip. I remember vividly the way I smiled when you turned to him and told him "It's okay. I let her chase me." Then you took the Mountain Dew ball cap from him, handed it back to me, and you said "Okay, give me a head start," as you ran off towards the swing set.
Even though that scene was the first, and most precious, of my memories of us together, it wasn't the first. Neither of us remember how we met. Honestly, you have always just been there. At school. Running around Ontario, WI on the 4th of July. Camping with our parent's all summer long. Playing basketball with your friends in the town square. Ordering strawberry shakes from the KPI ice cream window. Eating cheap Chinese food whenever I was home from college. And, finally, letting me sit in the bar you were working at drinking copious amounts of coffee while I did the crossword because I didn't want to go home to an empty apartment. People ask us all the time how we met, and for the most part the truth is we can't remember. In reality, we've been together longer than most married couples.
Our story doesn't start with us. It started two generations before us, with our grandparents. Our grandparents were cooler than us, spending their free time gambling and going to Las Vegas together. A tag-team quad that enjoyed good friends and Wayne Newton. Then came our parents. Tomato throwing, pony underwear wearing hooligans who (heaven help them) were roommates. We have them to thank for tagging us together through their camping trips and holiday parties through the years. Even though I was still "a kid" and it wasn't cool to be a 12 year old hanging out with a 9 year old, you never treated me as a burden.
Fast forward to today. We are living in our little apartment filled to the brim with too much stuff. I will always love that little apartment. It is the spot where I first told you I loved you after you had hung up shelves for me in my living room and it's the spot where you knelt down on one knee in your pajamas in the kitchen and asked me to marry you. People walk into our apartment and judge us for the amount of things hung on the walls, but I see those walls as a museum of what we have become: the shelves you first hung for me now holding family photos and our record player, the coffee mugs that we use every morning while we take our time to become alive, and the many many photographs of family and friends that we have collected over the years. Who wouldn't want all of those things displayed for all to see? We have grown in our little apartment, and for that I am thankful.