I bought 24 Hallmark® cards at my school’s bookstore for our 2 year (24 month) anniversary. I printed out 24 pictures of you and me and cut out our heads. I pasted the heads on stick figures which I drew in each card, depicting different scenes of things we’ve done, past surprises, and funny memories. I put the cards in their respective envelopes, taped a rose to each one, and numbered them 1-24. I put a single word on each card to collectively spell out a phrase, and gave them to your brother, to whom I’m grateful for having spread these envelopes around your house while you slept.
You woke up the next morning and set off on a scavenger hunt and collected all the cards I left with William, which only amounted to 23. You called and wondered why one was missing since the phrase they spell out obviously doesn’t end, but I pretend like I don’t know. I was very excited, though, to hear that you opened all the cards and loved all the pictures I drew.
Later that night, we go out to Chili’s and I behave as if it’s a normal date, nothing special. Predictably, you go to the bathroom shortly after we sit down, which is when I stealthily slide card #24 into your menu. When you return, no time is spared before you open your menu and see a card there with a number 24 on it, and the last word in the question all 24 cards spelled out. I urged you to open the card, and after you had a moment to see what scene was depicted, I recreated it right there in the restaurant by getting on one knee.