Just to get us warmed up here, one of the things I love most about Mike is that he can say something like, "My poops are capricious, cavalier even," and I totally understand what he means.
Yeah. We should probably get married. Or "murried" as mah southern boy likes to say.
So just hours before Mike and I left on our first date (to the movie involving drug-dealing and violence towards unfortunate children), I was possessed with the notion that I was a skilled repurposer, and that I should try to modify a men's XXL shirt I bought at DI into a shirt-dress of sorts. That would look cute, right?
Well, in theory, yes. With my skills? No. Not even close. But I sort of hacked the shirt up and sewed it again. And it was really awful. But my heart was so set on wearing a repurposed shirt that I wore it anyway, with skinny jeans and a large blue sweater. I looked like a lumberjack. Mike is correcting me now: lumberjane. Touche, my friend. Touche.
So that was the first thing I said when he came to pick me up.
Mike: "Hello! Ready to go?"
Me: "Uh so I look like a lumberjack."
It probably didn't go down exactly like that, but it was probably some equally horrific exchange. Mike took me to Thai Mango, a pretty sweet place by Cafe Rio and Olive Garden in Provo. I think I made my lumberjack comment there.
The thing with Mike, you know, he thinks fast on his feet. He said, "You don't look like a lumberjack at all. I was just thinking about how nice you looked."
10 points for Michael! And 50 gold stars!
Before we went to the movie at the International Cinema, we walked around on the newly landscaped south end of campus, near the Maesar Building. We sat for quite a while, talking about life. You know, life! Was that where we fell in love? No, but it's where I realized Mike was definitely worth a second date, and I hoped we'd get a chance to really build something together.
As an aside, a lot of people are curious about Mike's facial hair since we began dating. When I met Mike, he had mini-chops and a handle-bar mustache. Chops and stache are gone. I am surprised how often I have to defend myself; apparently many men, and some women, blame me for the mustache's demise. And somehow miss its presence.
All I can say to them is Michael can do what he wants, but there are universal repercussions for our actions. He can choose his facial hair, but not the consequences thereof. All kidding aside, Mike is a handsome man. No need for him to hide behind his burly facial hair, although I'm not opposed to letting him indulge every once in a while in the future,
See, we are beautiful now: