The One

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What a pair.

That one whose head is being used as a seashell display table makes our whole escapade in life a fun one. Actually, they both do, but I feel like I write more about Chloe than I do Brooke these days.  Let's see how this goes . . .

Back when our little courtship began, our dates looked something like this: summer in Phoenix, Arizona, meet at the park at 7:00 pm, run three miles, do a series of stretches and ab workouts on the grass next to the pond, drive to Oregano's Pizza in Scottsdale and enjoy a house salad and garlic bread under the low hanging lights and jazz music playing.  Foot massage under the table.

Although once we went to the grocery store instead and bought a mango to share and two liters of water.

I hear you.  "That's a date?  And she still married you?"

I'm envisioning the look on a young suitor's face when he works up the nerve to ask Chloe on a date - oh God, it just popped out - by suggesting the classic dinner-and-a-movie shenanigan.

Try a 5k and a salad, punk.


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