Dear Jac,

When, on the night before your birthday, we found ourselves faced with recycled corn dog and slushy, I realized something profound. We worked wordlessly and I watched you watching me and thought,

“There is no one else I’d rather be cleaning up puke with than this guy.”

Through the following days, I kept track of the times I was grateful for you. There is no one I’d rather :

. . . sing silly versions of the birthday song to

. . . be laughed at by

. . . not give a birthday present to (Though, it must be admitted, there’s no one else I’d rather give a birthday gift to than you, just to be clear.)

. . . make cheap-o decorations for

. . . take care of and worry over when their sick

. . . get horribly lost and flustered with on Bay Area freeways, even when I don’t handle it well (Most especially when I don’t handle it well!)

. . . be squished up against in a cable car

. . . experience new things with

. . . freeze my tail off with

. . . wish I was in a cozy restaurant with

. . . have next to me in a ridiculous and stressful situation

. . . hear snoring in the passenger seat

. . . be running late to mass with

. . . sit next to

. . . be teased by

. . . catch the eye of

. . . light candles for


You are, simply, the best.

I’m so glad you’re mine.

Happy (belated! Still no presents!) birthday, love.