So apparently, my husband wants a blog.
A couple of weeks ago, he announced that he wanted to post something. In fact, he said that he believed he (and the kids as soon as they are able) should be given license to post on my blog as some kind of quid pro quo for being featured in my own writing. Not sure I agree, but I had no problem with him having a little spotlight time.
Then TODAY, I get an e-mail from him about this idea he had for a Valentines Day theme post in which he tells the story about how we met and then I tell the same story from my point of view. My first thought is, “when did he start liking my blog so much?” My second thought is, “why am I asking questions?” Besides, as an idea person myself - I always encourage those of others.
SO – welcome back Chris (weren’t you just here?). We’d love to hear the story of how you met your wife…
I was perfectly content sitting in my apartment playing Playstation, and eating pizza one weekend night. My phone rang, so I paused the game and answered it. I was expecting Mike, my roommate, to call me and tell me that he had just gotten off the subway and was about to head to the Four Courts of Ireland (our living room). It wasn’t Mike. It was my old GWU roommate/fraternity brother/swim team mate, Patrick.
Pat: Hey Hoody, come on over to my house. I’m having a few people over.
Me: Nah, I’m good man. I’m about to win the world series on Playstation here. Leave me alone. (Patrick is a very persuasive guy so you have to head him off at the pass as quickly as possible.)
Pat: I got a girl for ya. Come on over and meet her.
Me: Ugh, nah. It’s cool. (What I really wanted to do that night was to go to the Irish bar and tie a good one on with Mike – nothing better than having about 20 Guinness’and singing Irish songs).
Pat: OK, great. Then I’ll see you in about 15 minutes. (Hangs up phone.)
So just to show Patrick that I don’t jump when he tells me to, I took my sweet time and got over there in about 45 minutes. Ya, I’m crazy like that. I remember thinking that this girl better be my exact type (a little wild, tall, black hair and big boobs) or I’m outta there. So when I got there, Patrick met me at the door and pointed out the chick he wanted me to meet.
Pat: (pointing) That’s her.
Me: Uh, which one? (He was pointing to a pretty girl with brownish/red hair and she looked a little uptight or stuck up. Which is fine since I know how to deal with those types.) Really Pat? She not my type at all. (Game on.)
Pat: I know she isn’t. Just go talk to her – you will like her. Its not her looks, talk to her. She is a very nice girl. You will like her. Come on Hoody. (Pat knows me very well – almost too well.)
Me: Shit. I hate you Pat.
Sooo.. what did I do? That’s right, I talked to (hit on) just about every other girl at the party. Yessss, I’m super cool and smmooothe in case you were wondering. Always have been and always will be. “She wants me. I know it. They all do.” Long story short. I talked to her. Was hooked almost immediately and followed her around like a lost puppy.
I asked her out for lunch the next day. Lied to her and told her that my office was close to hers so it would be no problem to meet up (I worked nowhere near her). After lunch I said goodbye and took off. No “can I call you again”. No “that’s was fun”. Nothing/Nada (game on – always keep em guessing if you definitely don’t have the upper hand). I went back to the office and waited a bit and called and asked her if she wanted to go to dinner that night. She accepted.
Here I am. 10 years later. 3 kids. Married to the most wonderful woman I’ve ever met.
Kate, I love you. Happy Valentines Day. Thanks for giving a shithead a chance.
Hmmm. I see many inaccuracies in the facts of this story… First of all, when did he ever sing, let alone in Irish bars? But I’ll address those tomorrow when I tell the REAL story about how we met. That is – if anyone is actually interested of course. At the very least, I’m sure my Mom is still with us. Hi Mom!