The Magic Number 13

All day long I was thinking that there was something I was supposed to remember about this day. Doesn't October 13 mean something to me? For the life of me, I just couldn't remember what it was.

Then I realized that I missed a mess of birthdays. My brother, my mother, and my daughter's godmother all have birthdays in early October. At least my brother and his family took my mom with them to Disney so I kind of had an excuse for putting off those calls.

But that isn't it. There must be something else.

The number thirteen has always been good to us. My daughter was born on the thirteenth of July. My husband proposed on the thirteenth of November.

Ah! That's it. My husband and I had our very first date on Friday, October 13, 1989.

Eighteen years ago today.

Looking back I have to say that I was quite a catch. What? I was. I didn't realize it at the time, but I was a bit of a looker. Too bad I had to ruin the effect of good genes with plaid pants and gravity-defying hair.

Ah, those were the days.

But my husband is another story. Unlike me, he grew into his looks over time. He is more handsome now than he ever could have hoped to have been at seventeen.

He had a mullet for goodness sake.

You can read all about how my mom set us up by clicking HERE.

I can barely believe that it has been eighteen years since we ate Oreos and watched Rainman at his mom's house. If I stop and add up how many of those years were spent far apart it might make me sick.

But we are lucky to have had many more good years than bad. We can still have just as much fun as we did back when we were teenagers. And we can do it with better hair.

*Hang with me until November 13 and I'll tell you the story of how my husband proposed to me. It's best to tell that story when he's out of the country anyway.