In May of 2018, I went on a Tinder date to a trivia night at a local bar. We came in last place* and “won” a sack of potatoes, which became the french fries we ate on our third date.

That’s the story of how I met my husband.

As an avid reader of romance novels and someone who loves all of the drama and intrigue they contain, it’s a slightly disappointing story. There was no years-long desperate, secret yearning. He wasn’t standing beside me when I bumped into an ex, resulting in me pretending he was my boyfriend to impress said ex before we actually fell in love for real. There were no ex-wives haunting any attics. I didn’t overhear him in a ballroom telling his friend that my looks weren’t enough to tempt him. Nobody was even in a disguise.

As a real life person, I couldn’t ask for a better story. We met and then we simply, easily, (happily) fell in love. In October of 2020 we decided to get married, and on September 26th of last year, we actually did.

The road to our wedding wasn’t as smooth as the rest of our relationship. COVID cancelled Plan A and forced us to scramble to find a Plan B, which a hurricane in August did its best to threaten. In the end, however, we had the best day with a small ceremony in the courtyard of The Pharmacy Museum and a reception at Tujague’s Restaurant.

I wouldn’t even know how to do a write-up of such an impactful day, so I’ll just leave a photo gallery here.

Of course, a wedding is always really just the beginning of our story and our Happily Ever After has already been eventful. Shortly after we got home from the honeymoon in October…

We found out that we’re expecting a baby!

Reader, I hope you had as amazing a 2021 as I did, and that you threw up significantly less than I did. Also, I would like to leave you with this argument, which I will never let go: we only came in last place in trivia that night because we were the only team with less than four people.