It was a Saturday night, circa 2007, around 11pm. I was looking fly in my hip belt, cowl-neck dress, round-toed heels, chunky necklace and extreme comb-over fringe. Usher was playing, vodka-Redbulls were flowing, and the floor was sticky. It was, in my 18-year-old’s opinion, a dream evening.
You can see it, right? A night out with your girlfriends, beginning with ‘pres’, all six of you sharing a full-length wardrobe mirror, with way too much foundation, heavy eyeliner (and far too thin eyebrows).
Little did I know I was going to meet my husband that night. Yes, I am an urban legend and met him at a nightclub. The stats were against us: he was a sailor; we were super young, I’d yet to do the token single gal Contiki tour of Europe.
And now, fast forward to a time with no analogue phones, no USB playlists and an appreciation of flat shoes, I have been with him for almost half of my life - and we have two beautiful children together.
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Don’t get me wrong – it has not always been smooth sailing. We actually had a conversation the other night and said that if we met the 2007 version of each other, but with the boundaries and self-confidence we individually have now, it would not last. Fortunately, we’ve grown together over the years. Definitely not in a linear sense (there have been many ups and downs), but grown nonetheless.
There are so many things in our relationship I am proud of (shameless comment in case he reads this), but one that I think might stand out for you is that we have a fairly active sex life, in a world where the dialogue generally speaks of why and how sex declines the longer you’re with someone.
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