Every year, on the anniversary of our first date, my Piano Man and I go on another first date. Our fifth first date arrived a month late—my health was being a jerk on the actual date… So we waited until my tummy was stable enough for its first mildly wild eating day. When I stopped consuming many of the foods I used to eat (mostly sugary stuff, meats, dairy, wheat…), I allowed myself three special times each year for one of my favorite treats: sweet French vanilla coffee on the anniversary of my little brother’s death, Dominican cake on my birthday, ice cream and pizza on my handfasting anniversary.
We took the subway to South Ferry. The train ride lasts over an hour, so I listened to Necronomicon, by H. P. Lovecraft; and my Piano Man delighted in Good Omens, by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman (I love that we enjoy the same book so much). There might have been PDA and giggling that annoyed the ghosts who shared the car with us *cough*.
In South Ferry, we boarded a boat to Staten Island… and took an obscene amount of selfies.
Then came the treats… Oh my freaking gods of gastronomical restrictions, my Wicked Luvs, I never knew ricotta cheese and olives on a hunk of dough could taste so good (after not having it for a year). And my scoop of coffee ice cream, dipped in chocolate, was orgasmic.
After pizza and ice cream, we walked to the place where we shared our first serious kiss. I had a conversation with a brace of ducks; my Piano Man fed a squirrel; I might have climbed a fence to pick mulberries; we walked through a graveyard; and then rested at the same spot where my love asked me to marry him—the photo in the middle… the others, starting at the top left corner, and going clockwise, are pictures from former first dates.
I’m completely in love with the tradition we’ve created to celebrate our love.
Do you have any personally crafted traditions you might like to share, my Wicked Luvs?