I never liked the word “boyfriend,” even when I was younger. One, it sounds so teeny bopperish at the best of times. Two, it seems far too self-explanatory. I mean, seriously, a boyfriend is a “boy” who is a tad bit more than a “friend.”

Well, no shit, Sherlock.

When I was younger, I also swore to any adult who would listen that I would never get a boyfriend. Never get married, never have kids, none of it. Ew. Gross. Yucky.

The times they have a-changed. (By the by, I love Bob Dylan.)

These days, I do in fact have a boyfriend.

His name is Danny, and he is a boy and my friend.

Actually, his age makes him more of a man than a boy, and he is my best friend.

I was reluctant to write about him on this blog because a large part of me is still kind of holding on to keeping things private. It feels stereotypically girly to write about him too. But after sitting on a comfortable couch and re-watching Pacific Rim while ruminating on this subject, I’ve come to the conclusion that it is only fair to be open and honest about Danny here as I have been about everything else I’ve written on this blog.

So here goes.

I first met Danny at one of my friends’ house. She invited me over to hang out while a short film was being shot there. I said yes, so bright and early the next morning, I went over right as they were setting up. Breakfast was available, and I was hungry, so she and I piled food on our plates and dug in while some people I had never met before began preparing for the filming.

One of those persons was Danny.

While I was stuffing my face at the kitchen table with my friend, Danny was sitting on a nearby couch cleaning a camera lens. As I was eating, I began complaining to my friend about deaths in comic books (over-utilized, underwhelming, and ultimately meaningless).

I was ranting, going on a tirade about how stupid death has become in comics, and as my complaints piled on in intensity, from the corner of my eye, I could see this stranger smiling. When he caught me looking at him, he said, “Everything you just said, I completely agree with.”

The rest, as they say, is history.

Danny and I began an email correspondence, and we got to know each other better and better as the months passed by. Eventually, after many anecdotes had been shared and inside jokes made, I worked up the courage and asked him out. (Don’t believe him if he ever says that he asked me out. It was me. I did it. I grew a pair and made the first move.)

I could tell you a million things about Danny. He does not like oatmeal. He has a fondness for trivia. He has mastered the art of the perfect comeback. His ability to analyze complex situations and come up with simple solutions is unparalleled. His ability to play Halo, not so much. He thinks Ocarina of Time is the best video game of all time. His favorite super hero is Nightwing. He likes to ramble, and he’s the best at telling stories. He has absolutely no sense of rhythm and he can’t hold a tune to save his life.

Is it corny to say we suit each other? We’re both laid-back. We would rather stay home and watch a movie than go out and party. One of my favorite things to do is to read at the table with him while he’s focused on doing something else.

I’m not embarrassed (okay, maybe just a little) to say that I love him. It’s funny that his first words to me were about agreeing with me. Because if I had to describe how Danny and I fit together, the best way to say it is that we are in agreement with each other. And by agreement, I don’t mean that we are of the same mind about different topics and that we never disagree with each other. What I mean to say is that we correspond with each other, we fit like two puzzle pieces, differently shaped, yet perfectly formed to be placed side by side together.

Like peanut butter and jelly, barbecue sauce and ribs, Master Chief and a Halo ring, Danny and I completely agree with each other.

One thought on “Danny”

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