On the day I am writing this it is Oct. 14, 2014. For me, this day is unlike any other day of the year because it is the anniversary of when my wife and I got married. Eight years ago on this day I made the best decision I ever could have made and, aside from my wife’s penchant for collecting clutter that makes the kitchen counter look like the remnants of a hurricane-destroyed trailer park, it’s been a pretty good run for us.

And since a wedding anniversary is the pinnacle of a boy-meets-girl story, I felt it was appropriate that I look at the starting of one such tale. This one involving my five-year-old daughter, Maddo.

OK…The kid is five years old, so I know anything that she does or comes to her mind has the potential to hold her interest for, oh, 30 seconds before she moves on to the next thing. [Unless that “thing” is the string of Scooby-Doo shows on Netflix, which Maddo and her sister can watch until infinity.] But, still…Last night the kid threw me for a loop and gave me a chuckle when she told me about a boy in her kindergarten class. It actually started with our younger daughter, four-year-old Little Sis:

Little Sis: Daddy! Someone has a crush on Maddo!

Me [nearly spitting Coke all over the French stew I was working on]: Oh…really?

Little Sis: YEAH! IT’S A BOY!

Me: Hey, Maddo…Does someone at school have a crush on you?

Maddo [Barely looking up from Netflix]: Yeah. [Then much more excitedly]: Can I have some raisins and Goldfish in a bowl?

Me: Yes, sweetie. But who is this that has a crush on you?

Maddo: “Donner”…[To protect the innocent, smitten young man, I have substituted his name with my favorite of Santa’s Reindeer].

Me: Really? How do you know Donner has a crush on you?

Maddo: Noriko told me.

Me: Huh…Is Noriko Japanese?

Maddo: No. [This may or may not be true. I don’t know if the kid even knows there is a country called Japan. Then again, with parents’ penchants these day to name their children after everything including fruit and, I think, car batteries, it’s possible Noriko and her parents may be as genetically tied to Mother England as I am.]

Me: Well. Is he nice?

Maddo: Yeah. I asked him for some sand and he gave it to me.

There you go. A potential budding romance born of a friend’s word and a simple act of affection. I just wonder if Donner is the reason Maddo’s shoes always come home filled with sand that, inevitably, ends up all over our living room floor and whatever I happen to be drinking at the time.

These kids are only five, so I know the odds of Donner ending up as my son-in-law are about as likely as me playing halfback for the Seattle Seahawks [Amazingly, I wasn’t picked in the draft this year, even though I declared myself eligible for the 25-straight season]. But still…

Watch out, Donner. You’re getting yourself into something serious here. You may end up eating that sand if you step out of line with my little girl.  Oh, but not because you may have to deal with me.

No, you have chosen to deal with Maddo. She’s not just a handful, she’s a semi-truckful. You have my sympathy, kid.