Ode to the Weirdest Boy Ever

One incredibly soothing gem that trickled down to me prior to starting the Big L was this: law school is a relationship killer, so don't harbor any expectations that your ever-so-sweetie will stick around too long to hear you rant about whether and how res ipsa loquitur can truly be applied in comparative fault jurisdictions and the degree to which Congressional authority is effectively limited by the Tenth Amendment night and day for the next three years.

This particular tidbit kept me up nights for a good long while leading up to the big event. When I tried to address my fears with my particular snuggle bunny, he responded by rolling his eyes, telling me that worrying about something "in the future" was pointless, and sometimes by actually physically banging his head against the wall--a characteristic if incredibly aggravating response which led me to spiral deeper into tortured certainty that my partnered bliss was not long for this world, if only because I happened to be partnered with the most irritating and intentionally obtuse person on the planet.

Well, I'm putting this officially in writing as my penance for not trusting the ska-obsessed cynic I call my own. You were right, honey, and I was wrong. My paranoia was pointless. It's really all going to be okay. You weren't just making it up to get me to shut up and go to sleep. Well, okay, maybe you were, but the point is, you were right and you are wonderful.

Thanks. No, really. Thanks. This one's for you.