On a fateful night in the spring of 2016, I arrived at Mookie's Tavern (the residence of four of my best friends) for a house party following a mixer between my fraternity, Chi Psi, and a sorority, Kappa Alpha Theta. It's important to note that earlier that day, I had visited the barber, so I was rocking a very fresh fade. A few hours into the party, I found myself in the kitchen pouring up some Tito's Vodka Sprites with my best friend Rami – you know, just normal cool guy things. While Rami and I were pouring our drinks, we noticed a group of cute girls chatting in the corner of the kitchen. In the spur of the moment, Rami turned quickly to them and asked, "Do you like my friend's hair?" The cutest one was the first to respond - "Sure, I guess. Can we have some of your Tito's?" We happily obliged and poured them Vodka Sprites while I began chatting with the girl who responded – and you guessed it! – that was Kelsie. We ended up spending the rest of the night together until the party started to clear out. I, being an upstanding Chi Psi gentleman, offered to walk Kelsie home. On the journey back to Theta, Kelsie's feet started to hurt from wearing heels all night, so I took off my all-white Sperry Top Siders (very fresh), gave them to Kelsie, and walked the rest of the way barefoot. We arrived at Theta, said (and kissed teehee) good night, and I pulled out my phone to get Kelsie's number, but DISASTER STRUCK - my phone was dead. In a panic, I asked Kelsie if I could give her my number instead, and she happily obliged. On the walk home, I was extremely worried that Kelsie was not going to text me, but thank goodness I gave her those Sperrys to walk in because, to my delight, the next morning I woke up to a text from an unknown number that read "Hi, it's Kelsie Martin :)". I was over the moon and responded by inviting her to Chi Psi's "Rumble in the Jungle" party and then on a date to the delectable Brasserie Ten Ten, where we both tried bone marrow for the first time together. And the rest, as they say, is history.

Almost 8 years ago to the day, I walked into a house on The Hill with some of my best friends. We approached a dimly lit bungalow on 9th and Pleasant Street, likely guided to the right front door by a Chainsmokers song on max volume. After some dancing and singing (screaming), I made my way into the kitchen - following a few handsome lads who were holding a bottle of the beloved, Titos. My friends and I stood across from them, eyeing the bottle, hoping for an offer. The guy on the left, whose name I would soon learn is Rami, pointed to the guy next to him and asked “do you like my friend’s hair?”. What a wingman. The guy next to him, indeed with great hair, was Luke. My opening line to the man I would end up marrying nine years later? “Yeah - can I have some of that?” as I point to the bottle of vodka in his hands. Luke and I started talking, dancing, and had our first kiss in that little house on Pleasant Street. The night died down and most of my friends had left, so Luke offered to walk me home. My feet, stuffed into heeled boots that hardly fit, were killing me. Luke took note and offered up his shoes for the rest of the way. I declined. It was February in Boulder - snow and ice covered the sidewalks. He was adamant that I slide them on, so we headed to Theta - me in white Sperrys four sizes too big and him in wet socks with my boots in hand. We get to the front door and he asks for my number, but, of course, his phone is dead. I send a “hey it’s kelsie martin :)” text and go to bed, unaware of who Luke Swigart was about to become.