My JLK

This morning, I woke up to this on my computer:

Let me tell you a little about my husband. He's so him. And that is that.

We were best friends before we even thought once (or maybe twice) about being more. And that is what makes us perfect for each other. I needed a friend first. And so did he. All else came, and still comes after. Not to say that sometimes I can't keep my hands off of him. I adore him. I simply cannot get enough of him.

The night we got engaged, he never really asked me to marry him.

He told me there was something for me in the glove compartment (I already knew what it was). I even knew it was in there because I saw him put it there (he's not so subtle).

I reached inside, opened up the pearly white case and gasped. It was perfect. Glistening (with love). And he chose it himself.

He told me to try it on my little hand.

I said "don't have you have something to ask me first?"
He said no and that if I didn't want it, or didn't like it, I didn't have to keep it.

Then we kissed like crazy and pulled each other's hair. And got married.

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.

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My husband is pretty darn near perfect for me. And truly, that is no slight thing. He is mine, always, even into the outreaches of eternity.

He never asked for my hand, but neither did Grandpa Keller when he asked Grandma to marry him fifty-two years ago, where he, too, hid a ring in the glove compartment of their car, just like my husband did.

I love that. Even more so because my sweet husband values tradition. He's dedicated to what is in his heart. He's dedicated to where he came from. He is honest. He is worthy. And he is very heartfelt.

He's only written me a handful of loves, but when he does, the day shines bright.

So, dear friends, can a Twix be romantic?

Why, yes, I believe it can.