I met Andy when I was 15.

He got in a car accident in front of my house at the start of summer, walked up and asked to use the phone, and he never left.

Before Andy, I had mix of odds and ends boyfriends.

Mostly just good for kissing and driving me around.

Andy was completely different.

He had a horrific sense of style.  Basketball Jerseys.  A gold Nike necklace.  I am almost 100% sure his jeans were ironed.  (read:  wealthy white boys who like rap music and keeping it real with the “street”)

I was the first girl he kissed.  And, he waited a whole month before he tried to touch my boobs.

He taught me how to drive stick, and took the blame when I backed over some old guy’s cat.

He told me I was pretty all the time.

He laid next to me in bed when I was having a dark day.

He didn’t cuss or go to church.

He pronounced the word nachos with a hard A.  Which was totally weird.

He bought me a fiddle because he remembered once that I said I wanted to learn to play.

After our junior prom, we fell asleep in my bed talking about where we would travel after we graduated.  He left before I woke up the next morning and was grounded for a week.   He still says it was worth it.

He never treated me like I was some poor girl from the country whose dad drove a station wagon.

I ask him all the time when he realized he loved me, and he always gives me some assy answer about how he just knew.

But for me, things were a touch more clear cut.

And, they get clearer almost every single day.

Happy 29th Birthday, Baby!

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