A year ago today, Matt and I had our first date. It wasn’t officially a date; it was meeting up for coffee in order to get to know each other after reading each other’s blogs for a while. The following week, he explicitly asked me out on a date. But in retrospect, the designation of first date belongs to that very first meeting.

I’d always wanted a long-term relationship with someone, but I wasn’t expecting it to happen when it happened. I guess that’s how these things work: you never know when you’ll meet that person, or how.

I’ve never met anyone else with whom I’ve clicked so well. We don’t even need to be doing something exciting; even if it’s just an ordinary day, and I’m sitting on his couch reading the Sunday paper while he types away at his computer, it’s so comforting to be around him. We joke that we’re like an old Jewish couple, making sure each other’s stomachs are feeling alright, sometimes yawning too early on Saturday nights. We just mesh.

Plus he’s so totally cute.

A few months ago, we were at a birthday gathering at a bar, sitting next to each other on a couch. We were being all cuddly, and then, seemingly out of nowhere, he said to me, “You know… we’ve never talked about the L word.”

I looked at him and said, in mock horror, “You’re a lesbian???”

We both cracked up.

We’ve said it to each a bunch of times since then. But just for the record:

Matt, I love you, and I’m so glad you’re my boyfriend. Happy one-year anniversary.