People often ask me how I’ve managed to stay with the same boy for so long. I never really know what to say; I guess I just can’t imagine not being with him.
It’s been six years and five months since he first held my hand, six years and three months since he first whispered ‘I love you.’ I still remember how big his hand felt, clutching mine, like I was some kind of delicate doll.
We grew up together, really. Our first date was at the county fair. We were spinning around on the Tilt-a-Whirl, the smell of hay floating in the air and my hair whipping in his face, when he asked me on our second.
The next weekend as we sat together on a grassy hill at an outdoor concert, he cautiously put his arm around me for the first time. We were both incredibly tense, but it felt right.
We navigated the narrow halls of high school together, putting up with each other’s shallow insecurities and the ups and downs of adolescence. We graduated on the same stage and danced together as prom king and queen.
I figured out he who was, learned every little crook and cranny of his mind, but along the way I discovered myself. He taught me to be patient and to analyze the world around me. I taught him to love himself.
He held me when I lost my grandfather, and then again when my grandmother died. He promised he would make everything okay, and he did.
We moved away from home together, and shared our first class at university. We were both so scared, but we made it through.
We fought a lot, though. He was stubborn and always insisted he was right. I was selfish and overly dramatic. Things haven’t really changed much.
But we never gave up on each other. There’s been rough spots, for sure, but I never stopped loving him, and he never stopped loving me. No matter what he did or what I said, at the end of the day, we were still crazy about each other.
Six and a half years later, we are still in love. I still get butterflies when he reaches for my hand or kisses me on the forehead before I go to sleep.
I still love the way he drums his fingers on his knees when he has a song stuck in his head. And even though I grumble when he leaves his sweater on the floor, I still find myself taking in his smell as I hang it up on the hook.
If there’s one thing my boyfriend loves more than me, it’s food, so for Valentine’s Day, I made him a meal extraordinaire. This was my first time making a whole chicken, so it was a tad daunting and warranted several panicked phone calls to my mother (I had no idea what giblets were, but they sounded awful).
I originally planned on wearing my fancy dress and pearls for dinner, but after spending three hours in the kitchen, those sweatpants were not coming off. But after being together for almost seven years, I think it’s safe to say he loved me just the same.
Large roasting pan
2-3 sprigs fresh rosemary
4 sprigs parsley
1 lb potatoes
2 sprigs parsley
1 tablespoon freshly squeezed lemon juice
1/3 cup olive oil
one head of garlic
salt and pepper
1 bunch asparagus (8-10 spears)
Remove thawed chicken from fridge. Preheat oven to 325 degrees Farenheit. If giblets are inside the cavity, remove and discard. Rinse the outside and inside of the bird thoroughly. Place in roasting pan, breast side up. Coat chicken in butter or margarine and season with salt and pepper. Wash parsley and rosemary and place inside the cavity. Cook for a half hour per pound, or until meat thermometer reaches between 80-85 degrees Celsius.
An hour and fifteen minutes before mealtime, chop potatoes into small cubes and place on baking sheet. Drizzle with olive oil and lemon juice. Add salt and pepper to taste. Separate garlic head into cloves. Peel the cloves and disperse among the potatoes. Chop parsley and sprinkle over potatoes. Add to oven and bake for one hour, flipping potatoes after a half hour.
Fifteen minuted before mealtime, chop the ends of asparagus and wash under cold water. Place in saucepan and add water to cover. Bring to boil and simmer for 5-10 minutes or until tender.