It all started with teenage lust in the halls of South Salem High School, when I would watch punkrocker Peter (coined 'Trent from Daria' by me and my friends) walk by my locker, in what felt like dramatic 80's movie slow motion. He had the mohawk and I had the cheerleading skirt. We caught each other's brown eyes, to be sure, but the love started when I was invited to a GWAR show with him and his friends; that's right... a GWAR show... [wildly romantic, we know]. Peter saved my little life by standing behind me, locking his arms around me, and bracing his hands against the front bar at the base of the stage, in order to shield me from the crushing mosh pit. He, quite literally, saved my life, and I was hopelessly gaga over him from that point on. I kept the white t-shirt, stained pink from the quintessential theatrics of the show, for an embarrassingly long time. Fast forward fifteen years, yes FIFTEEN years later, after so much life in between... when I have moved in to Peter's family home that he now owns (side note: ...that I lived 3 blocks away from my entire childhood). I'm nesting, of course, doing piles of laundry that he's neglected for quite some time... and something flutters out of the piles amidst my cleaning frenzy and falls to my feet... and it is none other than the GWAR concert ticket from February 11, 2002. He had stapled it to his pink-stained t-shirt, that he, too, had kept all those years. We honestly couldn't make this stuff up if we tried. The universe had a plan, and us finding our way back to each other was in the blueprint.