Lizzie and I met at a mutual friend's Halloween party, both under the same orders: "You guys have to meet! You're basically the same person!"

She came dressed as the Riddler. I was in a cloak and robe, pretending to be some kind of evil wizard. She asked me to demonstrate my evil laugh, and I did. Our friend was right: We were both massive dorks.

What followed were months of the sort of cautious, furtive flirting only found among nerds. Extended discussions about the literary merits of serially published web fiction. Swapping stories about tabletop roleplaying games. Philosophical arguments about the beliefs of niche online personalities. We were both crushing hard, but we were also too subtle to let the other person see. Nevertheless, over the next year, the sight of bouncing grey dots in a Facebook Messenger window was a joyous experience.

It wasn't a sustainable dynamic, and eventually we had to be honest with each other. We weren't sure the relationship would work out, and by that point we were in different states, so I told my parents I was flying down to visit my brother spring break and snuck over to where Lizzie lived in College Station, TX. We figured we'd go on a couple dates and see if we could turn our flirtationship into something more functional.

Obviously we succeeded. You're reading this on our wedding website. But there was one moment where—aggravated, perhaps, by homebrewed butterbeer—we got in a big fight over something inconsequential. Lizzie took revenge by offering to take me to see the university swimming pool, then leading us randomly through the university campus ("we're almost there!") until I figured out what was going on.

It took me forty minutes.

I think the most important takeaway from that week was the experience of discriminating between our expectations of what a relationship would look like and our growing understanding of the raw material we were working with. I'd always wanted a partner who shared my musical tastes and board game preferences, and instead I ended up with one who was patient and supportive. Lizzie wasn't expecting to end up with someone who constantly made her feel loved and cared for.

We didn't exactly propose, but we parted that week knowing we were in it for the long haul.

Then, nothing dramatic happened. Some love stories are like that. I feel some kinship with Jacob, laboring for seven years before he could marry his wife. The story of this relationship between 2017 and now is mostly the story of us trying to get established in the post-2008 economy, moving back and forth between Texas and Washington as the job situation dictated.

But I should tell you the story of how I proposed. Spending most of the relationship long-distance meant it primarily took place over video chat. We called each other every night before bed. On special occasions, I would tell her bedtime stories set in a sort of faerie tale world, following the adventures of a talking muffin who was also a knight of the realm.

I'd planned it years in advance. We were both in Texas, and she was over to celebrate our anniversary. I told her a very special Muffin Story, this time with props—I'd built a castle out of duct tape and cardboard, and we baked actual muffins for it. In that story, the Brave Little Muffin proposed to his love interest, and I pulled on a well-hidden string. That activated a jury-rigged mechanism in one of the towers, flipping it open to reveal a ring that was decidedly not made of baked goods.

She said yes.

We're both very excited to see you on June 14th.

N&L

Our Wedding Day

1:30 PM

1:30 PM

Ceremony

2:30 PM

2:30 PM

COCKTAILS

4:00 PM

4:00 PM

Reception