Although the day is primarily devoted to celebrating mascara, I usually try to reserve five minutes or so to shake Moses' hand and wish him luck in the coming business year.
But since we're already on the topic and I abhor having to come up with clever transitions, I figure I will give a little more lip service to the man that I've shared the past quarter of my life with.
I'm fairly certain that all three of my regular readers are familiar with the narrative of how Wenoses or Mosendy (I'll let you decide which one is more obnoxious) came to be, but, on the off chance that someone happens upon the post while sampling blogs written by lush, sarcastic, and highly succesful twenty-seven year olds, I will retell the tale. I think it's important for you to see how I've come to lead this glamorous life of mine...
Moses and I went to Boyton Middle School together and except for a few glimpses of him in band (he played Saxophone, I played the trumpet) and the moderate fame that accompanied him when he was named "Most Musical" in the 8th grade year book, we didn't interact much. Although I seem to vaguely recollect Moses being in the same study hall as me in the 7th grade. But Mr. Kelly's study hall was of such a nature that I seemed to have blocked most of it.
Moses and I became friends in High School. Since we were both overachieving bandits, we shared most of the same AP and honors classes. Moses now finally admits that he always thought I was "a really cool renegade" (explanation forthcoming) and "awesomely hot" (I may have slightly tweaked the language on that last one but I'm the wordsmith, remember?) I, on the other hand, pretty much always had a crush on Moses. It's true. My best friend Gwendolyn can corroborate. The only thing that varied from year to year was the intensity of the crush. It had reached its initial peak during junior year of High School when we were both in the same English class. Not to brag, but I pretty much ruled that class. I once got up in the middle of reading Walden and declared that I was sick of reading Thoreau, that it was pointless and stupid and that I was going to go get coffee. I then, naturally, asked our teacher for money which he gave me, and returned 30 minutes later with a mocha latte. Yeah, that acutally happened. And to Moses, this was one of the most epic things he had ever witnessed at IHS that he still speaks of it with a sense of awe.
After graduation, Moses and I went through a brief period of despising one another. I will call this the Pride and Prejudice portion of our courtship. Moses would hate that but as we have already established, he doesn't read my blog, so I think we're good. You can go ahead and to refer to it as that from now on and he will be none the wiser. Moses claims that he never actually disliked me and I am sure that I never truly hated him either but suffice it to say that with the help of a healthy dose of high school drama, Moses and I did not get along from about the summer of 2003 to the spring of 2004. During our Pride and Prejudice phase, I would complain incessantly about Moses to all of my girlfriends. My best friend Gwendolyn, clever but mostly sick of hearing all Moses-related griping, finally confronted me and asked me point blank if I liked Moses. In that moment, talking on my cell phone on the top bunk of the bunk beds in my college dorm room that was double converted into a triple, surrounded by pictures of Sylvia Plath and Tori Amos, I had an epiphany. I did like Moses. I liked him more than I had ever liked anyone before. And so began my summer missions: to win the heart of Moses Quinn Wilks.
Despite running in the same social circles, this task was not as easy as I initially thought. My first obstacle was ignorance. I had never pursued anyone in my life so I wasn't entirely sure how to go about doing it. My dating career was rather modest and all the boyfriends that I had had up until that point had pursued me (naturally.) The only actual examples I had of a woman pursing a man came from romantic comedies and I was relatively certain that stalking, manipulating, and destroying Moses' life ala Julia Roberts in My Best Friends Wedding was not the way to go. Well, fairly certain anyways. The other unfortunate fact remained that I had never quite acquired the skill of flirtation. If I had a crush on someone, which happened never, I usually teased and/or was mercilessly sarcastic and then prayed that the lucky individual found that endearing. But the situation with Moses was a delicate one. I needed to be stealthy, even coy. I didn't want to spook him. I liked him far too much.
So when I spotted him at the next party the summer after freshman year of college, I gingerly approached him and said the suavest, subtlest thing I could think of: I want to date you.
It was smooth. So smooth in fact that Moses thought it was a joke and we continued the same game of bluntness and misinterpretation (my absolute favorite!) for what seemed like an infinite amount of time.
But on the night of August 14th, after performing with his funk band, we sat together in the dingy and decrepid college-town digs of our friend Sam, and I, like a shameless harlot, won my prize and Moses finally agreed to be my boyfriend, or something.
And we've been together ever since.
The thing about Moses is that he is exactly the type of partner I've always wanted, except that I was never the sort of person to give any thought to what it was that I wanted in a mate, so it's almost like I've developed this retrospective/retroactive checklist based on all the things that I love about Moses. Which is basically everything minus the video games and the leaving the peanut butter out, so it's a pretty long list.
Moses plans out loud--I love that. Because I hate planning. And anything that doesn't require painstakingly drawn decision making.
Moses makes me feel like the most intelligent, most talented, most beautiful, and most adored woman on the planet. Just this past weekend, when we were going out to dinner for our anniversary, Moses told me I looked like a fancy prostitute. And you better believe that I felt like the fanciest prostitute this side of 19th century Paris. (And Mom, just in case you are reading this and are appalled, he was 70% joking.)
Moses is incredibly logical and this makes me both less irrational and less neurotic. All he has to do is give me a certain look and say "really?" and like a dog that has been reprovingly spritzed with water, I freeze instantly, stop what I am doing or saying, fill with shame, and scurry away.
Moses can also comfort me just as swiftly.
Moses is essentially a smarter, funnier, and more talented male version of me. We laugh at the same jokes, like the same foods, dislike the same bands, hold the same political beliefs, subscribe to the same philosophies about life and humanity, sass to such a degree that it makes others wonder if we are really assholes, and share a secret language based entirely on inside jokes. Naturally, we make one hell of a Taboo team.
There is really nothing about Moses that I don't admire and respect and I trust his opinion more than anyone's. Except for when he tells me that high-waisted jeans don't look good. Then, he's just wrong. Because they're fabulous.
And even though I'm a poor professor and he's an even poorer graduate student, we truly have the happiest life together.
I've had a crush on Moses since I was sixteen and I really don't foresee it ever ceasing.
I will leave you all now with some of my favorite snapshots from the past eight years.