This is either very romantic or really tacky. Take your pick. My roomate worked in a bar. I'd drive her to work, have a fun night with some drinks, rounds of pool, and a dance or two and she'd drive me home. The night she worked just after my birthday, I had a few too many courtesy of the friendly bartenders I knew and met my future hubby, the really drunk jarhead who wasn't pushy and protected me fom males I did not wish to talk to. We really hit it off but were both a bit drunk to recall details.
Dec 5th. Pearl Harbor Remeberance day, we met again. He was miffed the dollar shooters were Buttershots and not Kamikaze's out of respect. He liked the thought but wanted a better shot special. Desert Storm was going on, he had minimal threat of going there as he'd been retained by the USMC 3 months from separating after his straigt eight years, no reserve. There was still a small threat he could be sent, as his friends. We hung out in the bar everyweek, not everyday but more than just the weekends for 2 months. Our first date was after Valentine's Day but before Easter. We went to Denny's, drank coffee, colored in coloring books and talked what our kids would be named. ( We got one right, the other was tossed out.)We dated, broke up, made up, then got sepated by...the continent of American and wrote.(He stayed in CA I went to SC.)July, I came back to CA, moved in with him, as I already KNEW he was THE ONE. Five months later, he proposed with a ring I'd drawn a design of in our kitchen. I still made him call my step-dad and ask permission. A Year after that we were married.
Twelve years and one month later, I still love him to pieces.
So, uh, 2 years and two months?