Happy Birthday, dear Ronny

Today my husband turns 39.

He's not the mushy-in-public type at all, so I won't go on and on like I'd like to. (But I might...)

He was 28 when I met him on a cool night in Uptown Minneapolis. For those of you readers who know our story, skip forward to the photos. For those of you who don't, read on for a sweet tale.

I was supposed to be shopping at my local co-op just blocks away from my house, but it was late and it was closed. Instead I drove to Uptown Lunds, an upscale and hip kind of grocery store, where I picked up my bananas and headed to the yogurt section. There I encountered a tall guy, freckled faced and just my type, walking down the dairy aisle past me. We stole glances briefly, then I followed him up to the register with my yogurt and bananas in hand. He was buying milk, just a quart. Of whole milk. Hmmm. Who buys just a quart of whole milk?

In line behind him I quizzed him on whether or not he liked late night milk and cookies (thinking, why else would anyone be buying that milk at this hour?). He informed me that he didn't really like cookies, but that he bought his milk there a few times a week. Then he left.

I checked out and dragged myself to the parking lot only to find him there, slowly getting into his car. Figuring that there was nothing else to do, I hopped into my car and drove home.

Weeks later I was looking at the City Pages, a local Arts and Entertainment newspaper, and discovered the "I Saw You" section. There it was:

Lunds Uptown 3/24

You: yogurt and fruit. Me: milk.

Had to run, would like to talk.

I was at work and I think I screamed so loud that a few co-workers ran to check on me. I called and left a message on the paper's voice mail system that night. A few days later, he called me. The rest is history! Almost 11 years later, a house, a dog, a farm and three kids later, I'm sitting here writing his birthday message. I love you, tall Ronny.