We met the old fashioned way. The way our grandparents met and their grandparents before them … by swiping right. After years living mere blocks from one another, unknowingly crossing paths on what must of have been countless occasions, advancements in modern dating technology joined forces with the universe and the rest is history. A match was made and a date was set.

Date number one, on a Sunday night in May, was — to no surprise of anyone in the five boroughs or greater tri-state area — at Harefield Road, Jess’s home turf. Despite giving up homefield advantage, Charlie did his best to put on a brave face as he sat at the bar waiting for his mysterious platinum-blonde, bass-playing date to arrive. And arrive she did … in the way only Jess can arrive. With his head still spinning, Charlie followed Jess out to the bar’s patio where we spent the rest of the evening talking and laughing for hours about god knows what — surely the Smashing Pumpkins were mentioned and a bond was definitely formed over our shared battle with chronic sweaty palm syndrome.

With the hours getting smaller and neither of us wanting the good times to end, another date was set … and then another … and then another … and, well, you get the idea. Lots of late nights talking, laughing, and listening to records turned into weeks, which turned into months, which turned into years. And while the nights aren’t quite as late six years in, the laughs are just as big, the conversations are just as easy, and the palms are sweatier than ever. With that being the case, we figured we should probably do this for the rest of our lives.

See you in Arizona!