As of today, Schmoopsie and I have been smooching for a decade. (Without being too graphic, allow me the liberty to say that, um, we're getting pretty great at it.) Ten years. I'm not subtracting the two (or was it twenty?) years he was off spreading the gospel in Mexico, because I didn't get any smooches from anyone else during that time, and (I presume) neither did he. And oh, I missed those smooches. Ten years. That comes out to roughly 37.037 percent of my life.
I don't want to make you gag with sappy stories of how fabulously wonderful he is, even though they'd all be true. I remind him of our sappy stories between kisses (reminder: they're great), and that's good enough for us.
He's my best friend.
He's a great kisser.
What else does a girl need?
PS- Five years ago tonight, he asked me to marry him. Anyone want to hear that story?