Author’s warning: This story is almost unbearably sweet, so any diabetics reading this column should have insulin at the ready.

We here at YourHub.com are feeling a little lovey-dovey, what with St. Valentine’s Day sneaking up on us. With this spirit of the holiday in mind, I thought I’d share my own love story.

This tale begins on two cold February nights on the high plains of Colorado. On Feb. 26, 1984, in the Yuma District Hospital, I was born. About 48 hours later, in the very same room, Sarah Ann Blomstrom entered the world, kicking and screaming.

Was it mere coincidence? Or was it kismet? The hand of fate trying to kick-start our romance at the very dawn of our lives? Who knows?

Now, Yuma, pop. 3000, isn’t the kind of place where it is particularly easy to avoid someone your own age; we only 47 people in our graduating class. Nevertheless, Sarah and I managed to deftly ignore each other for the first 17 years of our lives.

Our ignorance of each other ground to a screeching halt in October of 2001, our senior year, in a cramped concession stand at the rodeo where we were both working for the afternoon.

Maybe it was the intoxicating aroma of boiled hot dogs and nacho cheese, the proximity of the livestock or an intense desire to ignore all of them, but something got us talking and I’m grateful for whatever it was. That day I found a beautiful, intelligent and witty girl that had been right under my nose my whole life. Four years, three of which were long-distance (me in Chadron, Neb., her in Denver), two college degrees and a few odd jobs later, we are finally living in the same city and enjoying the spoils of our early 20s together and I couldn’t be happier.