So I've been enjoying this post by Lauren about dropping the love bomb.
I wanted to reply with a story of my own, but I actually don't remember the first time that Thomas and I said "I love you." We discussed it last night, but all we could come up with was, "Maybe it was at Lula's?" Sad.
(P.S. I just ate fake chocolate. It took 17 minutes for my body to figure it out. Uh oh.)
What we did remember was a very funny incident from the first couple of months that we were dating:
I eat a lot. I mean A LOT. I really think I could enter food eating contests and win. This is not something that I generally like to reveal to my significant other right off the bat. It does not seem feminine to reveal that you could eat 3 times the meal that he just put away.
So one night, Thomas brought home food from Checkers. To the best of our recollection, it was chicken fingers and fries. I ate my portion nicely (or at the speed of light, depending on your perspective) and waited while Thomas picked at his food in a leisurely manner. Finally, it appeared he would eat no more. Would I reach over and eat the food? Should I request the leftover food? Should I clear the table and eat it on the way to the kitchen? These and other options I pondered while Thomas put his uneaten food back in the Checkers' bag and threw it away. THREW IT AWAY!
So I did what any self-respecting person would do. I waited until he left the room, got it out of the trash and ate it.
Except he came back and caught me at it.
Thereafter, we were at a gas station and Thomas was going in. He asked me if I needed anything and I said no. He asked if I was sure. Yes, I said, I'm sure. He walked toward the gas station and stopped at the trashcan, pointing at it and looking at me as if to say, "Anything from in there you want?" Bastard.
To this day he'll still tease me about it.