Last night:
"So, wait, what's the date?" He called from the bed, where he had plopped himself down to wait while I futzed around in the bathroom.
I didn't even have a second to respond.
"Is today our anniversary?"
I poked my head out of the bathroom, "Yep."
"Six months, or what?" He said, jokingly.
"Four months."
"Four months?"
"Yep."
"Happy Anniversary."
I came out of the bathroom, lept onto the bed and planted a kiss on his forehead, "Happy Anniversary." Back to the bathroom to finish whatever it was I was doing.
"Well, as of tomorrow, and from this point forward, you are my longest ever girlfriend."
"Oh, you passed that relationship mark for me two months ago, baby."
In general, I'm not a fan of the "monthaversary," but in this case, I'll accept it and enjoy it.
And so, we proceed into uncharted waters. Neither of us has ever been this far into a relationship. I'm not behind him; he's not ahead of me. We're in this together.
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