Short stories.

On our first date, Ron and I went to Carl’s Junior.  I drove and bought my own happy meal.  A few days later he decided he needed to take me on a “real date.”  I’m still not sure if Carl’s Junior was a test I needed to pass, or if he was just clueless.

Ron was the life of the party…for about 25 minutes.  This is how “turn up and pass out for Ron” became a thing.  He’d try to keep up with everyone, but instead he’d end up down for the count by 9 pm.  Then he’d wake up at the crack of dawn the next day and wonder where the mess came from–oh, I don’t know dear; could it possibly have accumulated over the remaining 4-6 hours of partying that you slept through?

The number of times I threatened to break up with or divorce him for refusing to turn the A/C on in the car (even driving through the desert in August): 49,764.  The number of times this actually phased him: 0.

Ron gave the best foot rubs, but at some point in the early stages of our relationship, he started remarking that I always had lint between my toes from my socks.  He started calling me “Sock Lint” and when I got a new laptop he set up for me, he even set my Windows username to “Sock Lint”.  In retaliation, I began to refer to him as “Bed Crumbs” because I don’t know how the hell he managed this, but that man never, ever had crumb-free sheets.

At one point, we were at a dive bar/strip club in Portland when I pointed out that one of the dancers looked like my girl crush, Krysten Ritter.  Ron proceeded to buy me a couple of AMFs in a row, and before I knew it, I was drunk and being grinded on by the nude Krysten Ritter look-alike.  My one and only private dance; thanks babe.

My mom tells me often that the couple of weeks she spent helping us move in to our Colorado apartment was the most she really got to see Ron and I interact as a couple, and she will never let me forget a moment when I was just sitting around, and Ron walked in the door, looked at me, and said “Man, you’re beautiful.”

I still remember what it felt like to run my fingers through his hair and pinch his squishy earlobes.  I remember what his big toenails looked like–they were perfectly round, and once he let me paint them neon green but then refused to let anyone, including me, see him without socks on for weeks. I can picture the exact position he’d be in while sitting at his desk drinking a beer.  I can still hear him laughing at the weirdest shit on Youtube and now my heart is racing because I just want it all back.

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Chelly

Widowed at 26. Blogging about life, death, and everything in-between. #LookTwiceSaveALife #ShareTheRoad #MotorcycleAwareness

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