He doesn't remember our first kiss.

I asked him about it the other day, and he got it wrong.

How in the hell could he not remember?

And what does that say about how he feels about me, and about us?

I was worried for a minute, but then I realized something -- that perhaps it's hard for him to remember the past when his present is so damn fulfilling.

A stretch?

Maybe.

But's it's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

The belief that when your life, wife, and kids are everything you never knew you always wanted, and your brain is filled with overflowing gratitude for it and them, well, it's hard to remember all of those other things from way back.

So I'll remember the things for him, and I won't make a thing of it.

And, oh yeah, I'll remind him about all of it even when he's tired of listening.

Like our first kiss. It was outside a bar. One I may or may not have been too young to be at.

We were standing in the middle of the parking lot. I may or may not have been wearing scantily clad clothing.

He went for it, and I may or may not have been itching for that very moment from the day I laid eyes on him.

The moment was intense, but then again, so were we.

Correction, so we are.

We have intensely invested in this fifteen-year friendship,

we are without a doubt invested in our three children,

and I couldn't be more invested in him, not just as my spouse, but as a father and a human.

So, no, he didn't remember the specifics of our first kiss when I broached him about the other day, but I guaranflippin'tee you he'll have plenty more he can remember (or forget) because I'm going to be with this stellar man for the rest of my blessed life.

Some would question what kind of love story we have if my husband can't remember our first kiss to which I'd avow that we have the type of love story that doesn't end, and so there's no need to recall the first when there will never be a last.