...a boy in snowman pajama pants, in the midst of cheffing up some pierogies in his dank Boston apartment, sort of stooped in front of me and told me he wanted to marry me, and with that I shook and he tied a string around my finger, in what was perhaps one of the worst proposals ever (it wasn't his fault)(and no he didn't plan it that way), here we are, five years later, bound by a promise, symbolized once upon a time by a flimsy green string just slightly thicker than a strand of a spider's web, and now made so palpable each day by the scraps of hardened rotini noodles that we both walk over with bare feet on our way to go play "pockafull of poseys" with the creature that was born out of our love. Round and round we circle, holding hands and singing badly, preparing each time for "we all fall down," and each time, pulling one another back up again, our smiles a little wider, the rush of blood to our faces making them a little rosier, the force of gravity still strong, still working to keep our feet planted firmly on the ground. ***