Hers was a city life. Full of dance lessons and beauty pageants and high heels and pink dresses, she spent a childhood full of ballet shoes and hair spray and nailpolish and lipstick.
He spent his days in his field. With his cows. In the barn. At the fair. His cowboy boots and blue jeans defined his wardrobe and the only hair spray he used was on the calves to perfectly style their fur before a show.
She entered pageants, he entered fairs.
She wore heels, he wore boots.
She lived city, he lived country.
Yet somewhere along the way — eight years ago today, to be precise — their paths crossed and they went on their first date. And then another. And another. And soon? She loved him. And he knew she was perfect. And she wanted to marry him. And he (finally) asked.
And now? The city girl wears cowboy boots when toting buckets of feed to the cows. Heavy buckets. To lots of cows.
The country boy keeps a pair of blue jeans for special occasions. Like when she’s wearing heels. And a killer purple dress.
And they? They’re getting married.
The city girl to the country boy.
P.S. Their parents were married in the same month of the same year.