Eight years ago we met. She hated him. He was indifferent. We soon became best friends.
Five years ago we fell for each other. He was charming. She was gullible. We had no idea what we were getting into.
Four years ago we really fell in love. She took care of him. He protected her. We lived happily ever after. (This, fellow readers, is when Disney says they're done because the rest isn't pretty and romantic with rose petals and wine and dancing and holding in farts and making sure you don't go all rabid raccoon when brushing your teeth and respecting personal space and not growling when he wants to have sex at 3am and her keeping her socks to herself and him pulling you out of the bathtub after you fell in and can't get out because you're laughing so hard at something you can't remember. ...That last one might just have been me. No, Disney is never that honest.)
One year ago we let go of all the <insert male cow poop word> expectations that relationships are given in order to succeed and chose to have our own kind of relationship that worked best for us. We haven't killed each other yet, so that's promising.
Today we bicker all day long. We drive each other crazy. We steal each other's food. We torment each other on purpose. We have no personal space. We compare insults. We make each other try things that we hate. We push each other beyond what we ever thought we could handle. We love each other more than we ever have.
So basically.... we've been screwed since 2009.