Valentine's Day ten years ago was an occasion for mourning. At least I thought so. It was my first Valentine's Day on my own, and to celebrate (read with sarcasm) I wore a lovely black dress to work. When my boss complimented me on it and asked me what I was up to, I bitterly said, "Nothing. Who wants to date someone with three kids?" I was, maybe, just a little, in the midst of a pity party.
Anyway, he said that he had a friend to set me up with. I was like, fine, whatever, I have nothing else going on. Less than a week later, my boss, his one year old daughter, the blind date named Rob, and I went to LaFuente for dinner.
Two and a half years later, my boss was the best man at our wedding. The rest, as they say, is history.
