Today is the seven year anniversary of when Chris and I had our first date. Chris, being a non-romantic piece of crap, seems to think that this date no longer holds any importance because we are married, but I tend to think that this day TRUMPS the wedding anniversary day. Wedding dates are contrived things that you set up in advance and tediously plan. Meeting the person you will spend the rest of your life with? You can't plan that date, it just happens. And that's why it's more special.

But, whatever. I guess having two important dates to remember is just too much for him.

We were talking the other day about couples. About how some couples seem like they were born to be together and then, on the other end of the spectrum, some couples are so completely opposite and mismatched that how they manage to stay together at all is a real head-scratcher. We know people who run the gamut on this one. Then Chris had the nerve to ask me where I thought we were on this spectrum. He had the nerve to ask this while we sat at TGI Friday's eating identical plates of their gourmet mac-and-five-cheese with chicken. He had the nerve to ask this when just recently he was complaining that nobody "gets us," that when something super hilarious happens, it's oftentimes just the two of us laughing. He had the nerve to ask this to me, his motherfucking soulmate. If such a thing actually exists.

Obviously, you can tell where I think we are on this spectrum. But if Chris had to ask? Maybe I was mistaken.

Anyway, it's been seven years. Seven years of mostly love with a healthy dose of disdain mixed in just to keep things real. I think we will honor this evening tonight, a Monday, with one of the more relevant TV shows on this general topic concerning me and the cheese. It's called, "How I Met Your Mother."