Mr. O

Mr. O and The Buster at about this time last year.  

Today is a pretty important day here at the Family O:  It's Mr. O's birthday.

Mr. O and I met at a museum lecture about printing presses.  I was late, and as fate would have it, the only empty seat was next to Mr. O.   He smiled at me, I smiled at him.  I wish that I could say that it was love at first sight, but it wasn't.  I don't think we said more than a dozen words to each other: "Is this seat taken?"  "No, go ahead."      

We were formally introduced a few months later, and the possibility of love should have been crushed when I yelled something at him about being obnoxious (yes, I really did).  An ordinary man would have run.  But for some reason that I still don't fully understand, he fell in love with me instead.     

Mr. O is one of the most patient people that I know--even though sometimes I accuse him of being otherwise.  He tolerates my anxiety and insecurities, believing in me when I don't believe in myself.  I will be the first to admit that being married to me cannot possibly be a cakewalk, yet he keeps on loving me through all my ups and downs.  He is the best husband, the best dad, and my best friend.  So, Happy Birthday, Mr. O.   I love you the most.      

Cheers.