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Sunday’s a big day. Paper or clocks. It’s the first one so I’m certain to remember it. It’s also on the inside of my wedding ring so you’d think I’d be golden for the rest of my days, but that depends. Nature or nurture. If it’s the former, then I’m in trouble. Grizzly, my dad, drives a car from the 90s, with legacy features from then, like a big engine built on believing gas would never breach $2 a gallon, and the height of mid-priced technology, a key code door. My mom, who picked the code, as it would be a car they’d share, chose their anniversary. I know their anniversary. My mom knows their anniversary. My brother knows their anniversary. My sister, too. But Grizzly’s something like 60% over the last five years. He probably even typed in the date those mornings he forgot.

So I need to come up with some foolproof system. Like telling my mom to remind me three weeks before. We’ll be going to Coi on Saturday night. I've never been, but from what I hear, I highly recommend you try it. I just don’t recommend you pay for it. What I recommend is, fall in love with a girl from Boston. Make sure she’s best friends with a girl who’s engaged to a big time chef in Boston. Get married. Have the bride to be and the chef give you a very generous gift certificate to Coi. Arrive hungry. Get the tasting menu for the first and maybe only time in your life. Enjoy. Unbutton top button. Drive home.

Happy Anniversary, Baleen. Next year, too, and the year after that. And all the ones to come. Phew. I’m covered. xo