On March 18th, 2004, Bridgette Herian made the fateful decision to be my best girl.
A year later, I salute her.
I salute her for putting up with the troubling meanderings of my mind. Last night, for instance, I posited this question to her: “What would your reaction be if you came into my room and caught me making out with Hitler?” Many other times I have shared tales of troubling infidelity and comic animal mutilation with her, and she just rolls with it.
Why would she put up with this, when clearly there is nothing physically, financially, or nutritionally attractive about me? I truly don’t know, but I refuse to question it. I found a girl who loves me and isn’t alienated by my terrible, hateful personality and obsession with life’s unmentionables. She doesn’t even seem to mind my irregular bathing and unnatural love of the “Beastmaster” film series.
It’s been a great year. A year I certainly don’t deserve.