Beginning

{I should Preface this story by showing you this picture 

of my hubby Mike and I and our best awkward faces}

So at 9:30pm Mike and I decided to trek out on an ice cream brigade to the BYU creamery for their AMAZING Graham Canyon ice cream.  Seriously, it tastes like boxed-up sunshine covered in caramel.  Anyhow, as I was passively describing the dynamics of the female purse to him we came about three inches (okay, so more like a foot) away from clipping this cyclist.  Suprised, Mike said, "I didn't see him...he was black!" 

Upon this encounter, I decided to publish a blog.  Actually, I've wanted to blog long before this but now that I'm married, life has become interesting in new ways.  Please don't flood me with how racist that joke was and recognize that it is only to be seen as a teaching lesson.  If you're biking at night, wear those ridiculous flashing things so pedestrians and cars know that you exist.  It's all too often I've seen "Cyclist Hit!" headlining the BYU police beat. 

So now that I've started kind of somewhere in the middle of our story, I'll back up somewhat and give you the background.  I was born in northern Colorado, and some 17 years later I was still there, taking community college classes and going to the local singles ward.  That summer Mike was in Denver selling pest control (yep, he was one of those guys) and attending the same singles ward at church as his lifelong childhood friend, Trevor, which was incidentally my ward as well. 

One Sunday he sat next to me at a friend's baptism and somehow smoothly got my number.  A year and some later, here we are!  I remember reading about the night he asked me out in his journal.  If I remember correctly, it says "...Found out ashley is 17.  Whoops!  Oh well."  This kind of describes our relationship; we're happy, carefree, hopelessly in love, and perfectly excited about the rest of our lives together.