We’d been in California for a few days and the previous night at my work Christmas party. Three years ago this morning, we flew to Las Vegas. One of us (not me) was airsick as we landed in the middle of a sand storm. Ironic, because this was literally a whirlwind. Work put us up in a lavish hotel on the strip, one of the last acts of kindness I’ll remember them for.

With a little more than twenty-four hours, we raced across town with a comedian cab driver and stumbled half-blind through street construction to find our way to get our marriage license. A few hours later, we were back on the streets, this time headed to the Little White Chapel.

We did it our way — just us, no witnesses, no finery, no pomp. I bought you flowers for the ceremony and you gave them away, to a little girl, afterwards. We turned down being interviewed for a television show about couples who eloped to Las Vegas but did accept the (free) limo back to the hotel afterwards and flew home the next day.

There are a lot of things we could have done differently had we known better, but I don’t regret a second of it because we’re better people for it and I’m a better person for finding you.