Rob & Kelly came to be 12 years ago. We've been a couple for a dozen years. That's a whole egg carton of years.

Twelve years ago I was 14. Rob was a year ahead of me in school and was already driving. He had longish hair and played in a heavy metal band. (No, really.) Why my parents allowed me to date him is beyond me, especially since the rule was that I couldn't date until I was 16. (And they sure as hell hadn't budged on the Can't Pierce Your Ears Until You're 12 rule). But it might have had something to do with my relentless begging and pleading, not to mention my sincere insistence that not being allowed to date this boy would, like, totally ruin my life. (For the record, it very well might have. I'm just saying.)

He asked me out on March 31, and at some point during the next week he told me that he'd chosen the 31st because not every month has one, and so he wouldn't have to remember as many anniversaries. I'm pretty sure he was joking. Maybe.

Little did he know we'd last long enough to start counting anniversaries in years instead of months. Little did he know someday he'd have our wedding anniversaries to remember. But I knew. The things I deeply believed in at 14 I no longer hold to be true. Except for Rob. He's the one thing I was right about.

And for the record, he's never forgotten an anniversary.