Story time with Season. Gather round.

A few years ago I dated a guy that I didn't like.

Seems stupid, right? And you'd be right.

I knew immediately that we weren't "meant to be." He had several crucial points against him right from the get go and I'm still confused as to how we made it past "the get go." Anyway, I share these with the intent to prove how polar opposite we were for each other—not to rag on him. (Cross my heart and hope to die.)
• He had a crazy wild love for country music. Which, as many know, it's just not my thang.
• He was just sure he'd convert me to football and used to subject me to hours and hours of it. Blegh. Not happening, bud. Not happening.
• He didn't like "The Office." (This was back when it WAS funny.) What a foreign concept that was.
• He couldn't ride roller coasters because they made him sick. Sure—this wasn't exactly his fault...but no roller coasters???
And the real punch to the gut?
• He thought Wild Hogs was funny. (Get ready for a long-winded aside) Now...the last thing I would want is to offend. But! If anyone unfortunate enough to see Wild Hogs happened to enjoy it, he or she should probably take some time to him or herself—spent in a quiet, remote area—and reevaluate his or her sense of humor. And maybe even direction in life.

Okay. That last one had a little trace of ragging in it, didn't it? Well, I'll go ahead and condone it this time on the grounds of intelligent cinema advocation. (ICA) (I just made that up—but anyone wanna jump on board?)

Anyway. At nights I'd return home from a date and usually mull over all the separate events of the evening that made me want to pull my hair out. A healthy relationship—to be sure. Despite this, I continued to date said fellow for four drawn-out months. Day after day I tried to dupe myself into thinking that I enjoyed his company.

Then we finally broke up. It was very overdue and very mutual—I might add. Shortly after this event, I cried my little eyes out. My lovely coworkers, who happened to be around when I lost my cool, looked on sympathetically. What they didn't know was that said tears had little to do with said fellow. Because—did I mention that I didn't like him? I was actually crying because I felt like my future looked so very dim. So cry I did.

But you know what kind of cry I'm talking about. The kind where your shirt ends up soaking and you're gulping in way too much air and you're better off just wedging a tissue up your nasal cavity to stop the flow. Then you get completely exhausted and you sleep and sleep and sleep and wake up the next morning feeling about a gajillion times better even though the puffiness in your eyes won't fade away for another 12 hours. If you don't know what kind of cry I'm talking about—I highly suggest giving it a whirl.

Well in any case, if my memory serves me correctly, a mere two days after my overdue breakup I reconnected with a certain Tom Thomas. On Facebook, of all places. Ah—romantic social media. We decided we'd get together for old time's sake. When my mom heard of the news she was a bit leery—since I had once adamantly told her that we were all wrong for each other. Speaking of wrong, boy was I wrong.  Isn't it amazing how a person's idea of "wrong" can change once the real wrong comes along? And I had thought my four-month yawn of a relationship had been a waste of four months. Looking back I think of it as a prep course. Titled: Date Someone Really Really Wrong For You So You Can Recognize Really Really Right For You.

And whaddoyaknow, today is our 2-year anniversary. And to that I say: go us.

Oh and to that I also say: Are we really sure about two years? Because sometimes I randomly think that we've been married for at least five.