Monday, February 13, 2012

How I Met My Husband

In honor of Valentine’s Day, I figured I’d share the story of how Tim and I met. The first time we met was NOT the kind of moment that romantic movies are made of. The very first time that we met was at a bar. I was there to celebrate a coworker’s birthday and he had tagged along with his roommate. It turned out his roommate was also a coworker of mine who I didn’t know (large company).  All the details of the night are not clear (perhaps it was due to the vodka) but a conversation between Tim and I was quite clear. It turned out that we had gone to college in the same city only a few miles apart. I made a wise crack that he was a geek due to the college that he went to. In turn, he said that I must be “easy” because of the college I went to. Now although I did start the name calling, I think it’s a pretty basic rule that you don’t call a girl that you just met “easy.” So in return, I called him an asshole and we parted ways.

That was it, end of story, right? Apparently, the dating gods decided to give us another chance and almost two years later we re-met at a Fourth of July party. We hadn’t seen, heard, or even thought of each other since that night. It actually took me a while to place him and figure out why he looked familiar. He only vaguely remembers our first meeting at all. This second time, it was a hot summer day filled with lots of drinking (boy, were we young and living life back then!). Tim was there with his same roommate and I was there since it was a good friend/coworker’s house. Turned out Tim and I were currently living in the same town and only a few miles apart. In all honesty, I wasn’t super excited to give him my number when I left the party. I was busy being single and given our two (drunken) meetings, I didn’t think that I really wanted to go down that road. Turns out giving him my number was one of the best decisions of my life. Who would have guessed that the guy whose friends were throwing 4th of July firecrackers out his car window would be the one I share all my secrets with, the one who I would marry, the one who would witness the birth of our three children? Who would have guessed that the jerk (my thoughts then) that called me “easy” in a bar would end up being my trash taker-outer, my bug killer, and my rock? So I guess my advice for all the guys out there would be to be careful who you call “easy” because us easy girls have a way of catching you hook, line, and sinker – for life!

Young Love, 2003

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