In which Dave buys me lots of cake.

Yesterday was a long day for me. Busy and at times kind of difficult. On my way to my Monday evening yoga class, I sent Dave a text, listing all of the things which were following me into class despite my best intentions. He responded, “Sounds like the universe is trying to figure out how much you can carry. [Middle finger emoji], universe! Let’s have cake!”

Then I came home and discovered that Dave had gone out, after our quick text exchange, and bought a slice of every kind of cake he could get his hands on at 8pm on a Monday night: white layer cake. Italian wedding cake. Chocolate cream cheese. Red velvet (my perennial favorite). Even carrot cake.

I was recently discussing someone’s new beau and remarked that he seemed like he would be fun out at a bar, but didn’t seem like a guy I’d be comfortable sharing a mortgage with. My friend laughed her butt off, and said that was true but it was also not exactly the kind of yardstick I used to measure by when I was single. I mean, she’s not wrong: I was 24 when I met Dave, and I went out with him because I thought he was fun. I didn’t know that, twenty years later, he was the kind of guy who would buy me 6 pieces of cake to help me flip off the universe- but I am so grateful that he is.

Love you, buddy. Thanks for being awesome.

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