When I was twenty-three, I met Henry Hager. He is six foot four, so there was almost no way not to notice him when he walked into an office at my dad’s campaign headquarters in Washington, DC. I’m fortunate that he also noticed me. We survived our first hilarious dates. Pretty fast, I was smitten with him, and I hoped he was smitten with me too. I invited him to a White House Christmas party. At one point when we were dancing, most likely caught up in the festive spirit, he whispered, “I love you.” He blushed; instead of playing it cool, he had inadvertently let the words slip. But I took
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She is so cute
