It was supposed to be a summer fling

I distinctly remember the conversation. My closest friends (scroll to the bottom to see that motley crew) had convinced me to relocate from my West Side apartment complex where my ex-boyfriend also had an apartment to share a house in Broad Ripple with one of them.

The Home for Wayward Girls, we called it. And many a wayward girl traveled through it. We had some legendary parties and it just happened to be within walking distance of Jeff Reed's house. While still with the ex, I'd tried to fix him up with a few of my friends.

He was divorced and fun and it seemed like he should be with someone. Eventually the reason for that became clearer and he and I embarked on what we agreed was going to be a fling. Nothing serious. No commitments.

20 years later, the fling is alive and well. It's had more ups than downs (at least for me; you'd have to ask the Captain for his tally). We've agreed to have a low-key celebration when the actual mile-marker hits on Wednesday. We have a bottle of Dom we've been saving and a couple of others to choose from if the night turns truly wild.

If it's cold out, we'll probably have take-out in front of the fire. That combination has proved quiet effective over the years.

It's how we celebrated buying the house -- yeah, the first one in the neighborhood we love and from which I'm too lazy to move. It's how we celebrated being pregnant (minus the bubbly.) And how we celebrated a bunch of other good stuff. It seems like most of our big moments have happened in our little house. I kind of like that.

We go to plenty of fancy dinners, and we have had some amazing trips. We'll probably go out West later this year while Ali is away on a school sponsored trip. We can call that a 20th anniversary trip, I suppose.

One thing we won't do is renew our vows or get our names tattooed on each other. Anyone who's watched even one season of the Bravo Housewives knows that's the kiss of death. We should re-create the reception, though. That was a fun party. Not as crazy as a Wayward Girls party, but memorable.

Speaking of memorable, I found this priceless piece of art in the basement the other day. It seemed only right that I clear off the mantle and give it a place of honor at least for part of the month. Ali said she remembered making it at Helen's house, which means she was about 7. 

It's a bit faded now, and it was dusty when I found it buried under some other great art. But I clearly liked it at the time, as I framed it. I like the hearts and the sunburst, which you'll notice is close to me in that killer dress. Jeff looks like a cross between a Russian folk dancer and a swami. 

Should I want more to mark the occasion? Because I'm having a hard time thinking I need anything more than what we have. We have more wrinkles than we did two decades ago, and one of us has less hair. We do drive each other bonkers from time to time. But it's working out OK.

Long live the summer fling!