2007-06-23
how I met my husband
|I was hanging out over at the purple chai (somehow I got there via junglebetti's favorite list, it's a favorite of a favorite) and she has "The Story of Us" as one of her sidebars. She got the idea from wifemotherme (who is locked and I don't have the password) and I'm gonna use it here. Thanks for the idea, folks.
I was never very good at dating. In college I did some "group" dates where the guy and I were friends with a group of people and the whole group went out regularly together. After college, in my early 20s I spent a year or so dating a jerk (isn't that requisite dating?), after that I did a stint of terrible blind dates and then swore off dating in general. I was 25 and made a private proclamation that I was never going on a blind date again and I was pretty sure marriage was not in the cards for me.
Until that point in time (the early 1990s) I never called a potential date. He would get my number, we would go out and I would wait for him to call me back. Sometimes the call came and I didn't want it to. Cue the answering machine. Sometimes the call never did come and I desperately wanted it to. This is when the red light on the answer machine mocked me in its absence.
At 25 and after all the bad blind dates, I decided if I ran into a man I was interested in things were going to be different. I was going to be more assertive, I was going to call him. It was a new era for me. I thought about burning my bra, but I just would have had to buy a new one, so I didn't do that.
I know this probably sounds quite tame, but you have to remember this was 1993. There were no cell phones and text messaging. I didn't have a computer or e-mail. My parents dated in the 1940s and their advice was outdated. And all of my siblings were married. My friend (at the time) slept with anything that moved so she was no help. I also had a rule that I would never date anyone I worked with, and I have to say I still stand by that (even though I am now married and not dating).
For me, this was daring. So on a sunny day in May 1993 after I had driven 24 hours straight back from vacation in Florida (and hadn't had a shower since the day before) I returned to my apartment. I did a quick survey of the refrigerator and discovered some old lettuce that really needed to be thrown away. I opted to take out the trash before I took a shower. No sense in cleaning up and then carrying out a bag of moldy lettuce, right? Right.
Now I'm not going to say I could have scared small children, but I wasn't feeling fresh as a daisy. I did have a killer tan, though. Like a cat burglar I checked out the path to the dumpster. Looking left and right, I decided the coast was clear. No other sign of life. I trotted to the dumpster and I sent the bag sailing into the receptacle. As the white trash bag made its decent into the metal container I heard a voice say, "Excuse me, do you live here?"
Because I did not want to be seen I made the exaggerated look-behind-to-my-left-look-behind-to-my-right-you-can't-possibly-mean-me face. Umm, yes. He did mean me. So we talked for about half an hour, in front of the dumpster, about the apartment complex. He was trying to decide which building of the available 25 to move into. I lived in Building 1, he had money down on Building 5. He was concerned about the road noise, since this was the building closest to the main road, however, he had to make a decision as he was moving in that Saturday.
I talked him out of Building 5 and into Building 1. In fact, he ended up moving into my building, next door and down one floor. He was on the first floor, I was on the second floor and our apartments shared a stairwell. Now don't think the story is over. It wasn't that easy.
I staked out the parking lot on Saturday morning, since I knew he was moving in that day. When he got there I went running so that I could return and "bump into him." Worked like a charm.
And the Emmy goes to Cardiogirl for acting surprised when she ran into the Cute Guy Next Door. Film rolls as I say, "That's right! You were moving in on Saturday. Welcome to the neighborhood!"
I'd like to thank the Academy, my parents for believing in me. . .
By now I figured all I had to do to actually impress him was take a shower, so I went into my apartment, cleaned up and emerged fresh as a daisy. I waved at him again (so he could see how well I clean up, you know) and then went to the store to buy a pack of gum. Yes, it was all smoke and mirrors and he fell for all of it.
A couple of days later I made him chocolate chip cookies and gave it to him in a Tupperware container. This advice was given to me by my friend. She speculated that if he had a girlfriend he would promptly dump the cookies and return the Tupperware, as the girlfriend would immediately sniff out foreign Tupperware in his house. Yes, I spent hours analyzing his moves. Don't judge me.
He kept the Tupperware until the next weekend when he returned it while he was doing laundry. We had a community laundry room in the basement. So when he stopped by to drop off the Tupperware, he had his laundry basket with him. He admitted later (and I knew at the time since I am the Master of Deception) it was a safety device. If we chatted and did not get along, he could point to his empty laundry basket as his excuse to beat feet.
We did get along and were married in August of 1994. Now, three kids later, the rest is history.
And I still think he's the best thing I ever found at the dumpster.
2007-06-23 at 7:01 a.m.
