Megan (Peterson) Romo

Over the phone on August 31, 2002—a few months after I had graduated from BYU-Hawaii with my undergrad in English—I asked Mark to marry me. He said "Sure," and three weeks later we got ourselves hitched Mormon-style in the American Fork Temple.

Since then, after I briefly taught English at BYUH and a four-year stint in Las Vegas, we settled in Sparks, Nevada—an offshoot of sorts from Reno and an hour or so from Lake Tahoe—where I pedal drugs. For the last 5 years I've been a pharmaceutical sales representative ("drug rep" in the colloquial), and as much as one can love a job I love this one. However, drug repery, no matter how engaging, isn't what I set out to do after completing college 8 years ago. Thus, in effort to further my actual aims, in January I'll begin a low-residency graduate program in Creative Nonfiction at Lesley University in Cambridge, Mass.

Mark, my mister of nearly 8 years now, is a swell fellow. He too did time as a drug rep but now works living out our collective love of all things Apple, helping Macs take their proper place in world dominance. Of course, that's the logical direction one'll go with a BYUH degree in history.

When not working (seemingly a rare thing indeed), I submit to torture in Power and Bikram yoga classes, write some, dabble in graphic design, snuggle our Yorkie, Soph, and embrace total inertness.

Apologies for the greedy length of this update, but seeing as I'm completely fascinating and terribly important, there was just no other way to do things. Have fun at the class reunion. I won't be able to make it, but I've never been especially social or pleasant or a very good sport, so that's not a surprise. But ya'll: you enjoy!