Tuesday night I got to Nick's office and he handed me a letter from England. It was from a friend who had come across some old photos and thought he might like them.
There were several of Nick. In one, he had on this form-fitting, sleeveless, spandex outfit. Which turned out to be a rowing uniform.
Apparently that they have to be tight tight tight and all one piece so that you don't have any extra fabric on which to catch your fingers or oar while you're racing.
Before I could make fun of the spandex, I was all, "You were so hot! You never told me you were so hot! And can you look like this again?"
This was, you see, about a decade and a number of pounds ago. It's not that he's not cute now, and it's not that I don't love him in his entirety. But, goodness.
So ten years ago, Nick packed up his life in Alabama and moved to England for a year. Officially it was to start a PhD program, but I frankly think that he really needed a radical life change and some distance from everything.
After a year he moved to DC and spent better part of the decade just waiting to meet me. Or something like that.
So the England.
While he was there he rowed, and he absolutely loved it. He formed incredibly strong friendships - friendships that last to this day. A number of his groomsmen flew from Europe for the weekend to be in our wedding.
But back to the picture. Or rather, the rowing uniform.
So as I was exclaiming about his hotness, and all fascinated by the outfit, he said, "You know, I still have it."
"The uniform. I could put it on when we get home and fulfill your fantasy."
"Which fantasy would that be?"
"The one that involves the overweight middle-aged man in a unitard."
I love him so.