11 years. ELEVEN. That is how long I have known you. That’s officially 1/3 of my life!
(Throw back to 2006 in Budapest at the top of some random mountain I can’t remember the name of.)
That’s 11 years that you’ve driven me absolutely nuts.
11 years that you have pushed ALL my buttons (even the super annoying ones I didn’t know I HAD)!
11 years that I have cussed under my breath because I KNEW you were right.
11 years (ago) that I realized Hungary was an actual country…a place I’d end up having two babies.
11 years of you talking CONSTANTLY, and us literally never running out of things to talk about.
11 years that you have forced me to get out of my comfort zone and out of my own head.
11 years that I’ve spent wondering why the heck you’d choose me…and a few years of actually appreciating that you’ve stuck it out despite my greatest efforts.
11 years that you’ve called me “dude.”
11 years of your optimism slowly encroaching on my realism.
11 years of watching you eat some pretty bizarre foods while traveling around the world, and trying them too so you don’t give me shit for being so “American.”
11 years of forcing me to be more social, which I HATE, but secretly really appreciate.
11 years of hearing you say what a beautiful world we live in, and finally seeing what you mean.
11 years I’ve had to listen to you talk about airplanes (I’m pretty sure I could fly a 737 by now).
11 years of you helping random people because you’re just really nice.
11 years of watching you offend 80% of the population with your humor.
11 years worth of endless text messaging.
11 years of genuine friendship.
11 years of pushing me to get out of my own way (like when we spent your first REAL paycheck on my new camera).
11 years of my soul knowing it was you.
…And 11 years I’ll have to hear about how cheesy this post is.
Love you, dude.