Yesterday was the six year anniversary of the night that Dan and I met at a small historic bar that sits in a tiny alley in Philadelphia. I overheard someone say that the name of the song being sung at karaoke was from "St. Elmo's Fire," when it was clearly from "The Breakfast Club," and I intended on telling the person so. Turns out that person was pretty cute.
Best fight I ever picked, that's for sure.
And so began a year and a half of long distance dating between Philadelphia and Chicago, before our nuptials at Philly's City Hall, six weeks before moving abroad.
Turns out you can meet your soul mate at bar after all.
Six years and one baby later we celebrated with some macarons and wine from Ferney-Voltaire. They have officially become my second favorite macarons behind Ladurée. That's kind of a big deal.
We should probably go watch "The Breakfast Club" to honor our beginnings, but really we're pretty pooped. I guess that's what happens when you get old. Or maybe we'll just save that for when we can celebrate with drinks at McGillin's again.
A la prochaine friends...
Honey
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