Key to his heart

Lee and I have a long, sour history with doors and locks.

The first time I locked us out was on our first date, which was an odd first date because we both already knew it was marriage and babies for us or nothing at all. There was never going to be any I-like-him-but-will-he-call-when-he-says-he-will? with us. Thankfully it was marriage and babies, because I had us locked out on the balcony of my apartment within about forty-five minutes of his arrival.

So what was he to do with me, the future mother of his children, besides give me a boost into my roommate's window, watch me tuck and roll, and wait for my face to reappear in the open doorway?

Lucky for me, the future mother of his children, that was the only option.

Then there was the time I locked myself out of my car on Valentine's Day at the gas station with my car running.

And then, there was this morning.
At 6:30am.
With the whole family in our pajamas.
And no spare key.

Thankfully, MB was easy to occupy while Lee pedaled the three blocks to his parents' house, woke up his poor mother, got a spare key, and pedaled back.

I would marry the one person who would get us locked out, he said when we were all back in the house.

It's not like you didn't know what you were getting into, I said.

Lucky for me, he loves me anyway. 

But from now on maybe we'll plant a key in the yard just to be safe.

This picture was taken on our second date, just a moment before I accidentally told him that I loved him. I really meant I love that you're here, but by then it was way too late for splitting hairs. This was obviously before I started brushing my hair, but after I started waxing my eyebrows, poor things.