We'd agreed, during a drunken night of club-hopping, that if we got to 30 (such a far away number, at the time), if neither of us had found love, we'd marry each other to satisfy the familes and for tax purposes.
When 30 rolled around, so damn quickly, we considered it, given our circumstances, but then mutually agreed to push it to 40, which was a whole decade away, plenty of time.
We both got close, but 40 came, and 50 was aimed for.
And indeed, on her 50th, we married.
Right before her ultimately pointless chemotherapy course began.
No comments:
Post a Comment