There once was a girl whose grandmother called her fey.
At first she thought it was F-A-Y like her mother’s name and so was confused. Fay wasn’t anywhere near her name.
Later on she appreciated the context though she wasn’t sure it had been complimentary. She quickly decided it was, whether or not that was the case, and went on about her life certain there were other forces at play.
One day she met a similar soul who had been labeled a heathen and also took the context to mean as he wished. Combined, they truly were two forces at play.
Children came early and left late, the home now a house with echoes and yet homey.
And he worked.
And she worked.
And though there is nothing such as happily ever after, they were in spite of it.
Last month we hit 28 years of marriage and this is my late present to the barbarian.
And they said it wouldn’t last a year. Booyah.