Perfectly Imperfect

It was today, seven years ago that the cute boy in my math class called my phone. I could hear the nerves in his voice on the other end and paced my kitchen with a huge grin and one finger twirling through my hair while we spoke.

Prom was coming up. I had the dress. But no date — a problem he was determined to solve.

“Will you go to prom with me?” He asked.  I told him I would on one condition.  That he didn’t wear his cowboy boots with his tux like he’d threatened to do earlier that week in math class.

It was agreed.

“Since we’re going to Prom together and all,” he began after the deal was struck, “why don’t we hang out some. You know, so it’s not all awkward or anything.”

Then, he invited me to dinner and to a basketball game that Friday night, February 5th. Little did I know at the time, it would be my last first date.

We’ve never been into celebrating the little dates like this, but this morning as I noticed my calendar, I remembered the day like it was yesterday. I could feel those butterflies fluttering in my stomach and could almost hear his voice asking me out and I smiled. Because nothing much has changed.  He still gives me butterflies.  Makes me smile.  Makes me laugh.  And I’m thankful for every little detail that brought us together.  For every memory– the good ones and the ones that only make us stronger.

Our life together has never been perfect — but it’s close enough for me. Perfectly imperfect.