How We Became Us

My husband and I recently celebrated 11 years of being together and when I say celebrate, I really mean patting each other on the back and saying, good job.

You know those adorable stories of how couples meet?

Our story is so far from that, you could stand on top of the above tales on a ladder wearing platform shoes and still couldn’t even see our story.

Those adorable engagement pictures on Pinterest?

I am pretty sure there are pictures of us plastered at the local Applebee’s with friends, and I know one of them involves my husband giving the finger.

In fact, we didn’t hire our wedding photographer until two weeks before our wedding.

Which reminds me: never hire a wedding photographer who is available two weeks before your wedding.

Here is the story of how we became us.

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Beavis

I first remember meeting my future husband at the train station on the way to Taste of Chicago in July 1993.

A group of humans went into the city that summer night to get drunk and eat food, and he and I were two of them.

But in actuality, I had a crush on another person in the group: my future husband’s best friend.

Mid-evening, Mike came up to me, saw my cup of something, and asked me, What are you drinking?

I told him bourbon as a joke.

Back then, they only offered beer at the Taste, but I didn’t like beer, so I was drinking pop while my friends were all plastered on beer.

It’s not fun to be the only sober friend at Taste of Chicago.

But I had to make my own fun, so I told him I was drinking bourbon, and he offered to get me more bourbon.

 

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“Dating”

 

Six weeks after the Taste, I was standing in the Misses department at Kohl’s, where I worked, being asked out on a date by Mike.

It wasn’t really framed as a date. He just asked if I would like to go to a ballgame with him.

I remember I was wearing a black top, plaid miniskirt, and shoe boots.

He was wearing a white polo shirt and khaki shorts, and he had a box of Nike shoes under his arm.

Later on, he told me he didn’t really need Nikes.

He just needed a reason to go into Kohl’s.

Aww.

Also, he didn’t ask me out in his Beavis voice, by the way.

I know you were wondering.

Hoping, maybe.

Anyway, we ended up going to a White Sox game and talked non-stop the entire date. I was really taken with him by the end of the night.

But I was also in an I don’t want to rush into anything kind of place.

I had just been dumped at the altar a few months before, and I had been kind of dating his best friend for a few weeks before this.

I swear to GOD I wasn’t a whore, even though it sounds like it.

Trust me, I wasn’t easy.

In fact, I was quite complicated.

So we dated like the Amish for six full weeks.

No kissing.

No holding hands.

Only a hug at the end of the date.

But we had so much fun every time we went out. I honestly felt like he was becoming one of my closest friends, and I really looked forward to the next time I would see him.

He even invited me to his other close friend’s wedding the following month, so I figured he must really like me, even with the Amish situation.

When he stopped calling a week before that wedding, I was confused and hurt.

It wasn’t until a few days later, while I was at a local bar with a group of friends, that one of his friends informed me he was dating a girl who lived in his apartment building and that he didn’t know how to tell me.

So he just didn’t tell me.

 

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Thank you, Mike’s Hard Lemonade

Fast-forward nine years.

A lot had happened in those nine years.

I got married to someone else, had a daughter, and got divorced.

He was a bachelor living the good life, having fun with friends, etc.

It was at the housewarming party for his new bachelor pad that a mutual friend, his best friend — my former crush —  brought up the time when Mike and I had Amish dated in 1993.

Oh, and we were all drunk.

This is important that you know this because it makes more sense.

Not the story.

The circumstances.

Whatever happened with you two? our friend slurred. You guys would have made a kick-ass couple!

Suddenly I blurted out that I may kind of maybe have a few of those feelings for him.

Thank you, Mike’s Hard Lemonade.

Then our friend slipped away while I was talking to his wife.

Ten minutes later, the friend came up to me and said these words:

It’s done. The deal is done!

What deal?

Did you just score us some weed?

No…I told him you like him.

Who?

Mike!

I don’t like him! When did you hear that?

You just told me!

No, I didn’t!

Magic moments, people.

Magic moments.

Two weeks later, and several very awkward phone conversations later, we went on our first date.

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This is like 1993 all over again

Ever heard of Door County?

It is this amazing peninsula right outside of Green Bay, Wisconsin. It’s beautiful, the food is amazing, and it is the scene of our engagement.

That almost didn’t happen.

This is what happened:

• I ate lots of cheese shaped like the state of Wisconsin.
• I sat out on the balcony of our hotel room and smoked lots of cigarettes.
• I went to the library.
• I got lost trying to find the library.
• Mike went golfing alone while I got lost trying to find the library.
• A seagull pooped on me.
• We watched Brian’s Song three times.

So, you know.

Romance.

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I did not know he had plans to propose on this trip because he wanted it to be a surprise.

This you should know:

I hate surprises.

So on night two, when he started acting really weird, I got upset because I thought he had a surprise for me.

But the surprise I thought he had for me was that he was going to break up with me.

Once we got back to our hotel room after dinner, he decided he wanted us to take a walk in the pitch-black darkness of night.

Then I was all, OMG, IS HE GONNA MURDER ME?

But we sat at this gazebo on the grounds of the hotel and he started yammering on and on.

I got highly suspicious because he is not a yammerer.

It was then that I thought, Holy shit. I think he’s gonna ask me to marry him.

That changed about 15 minutes later when he got up and said, Let’s just go back to the hotel room.

Twenty-four hours later, no question was asked.

No murder-for-hire plot surfaced.

No ring was presented.

It was around this time that I got mad.

Like, REALLY, REALLY mad.

WHY DOESN’T HE WANT TO MARRY ME?

I AM A CATCH!

WHAT IS WRONG WITH HIM?

The more time that passed, the more infuriated I became with the prospect that he didn’t think I was worthy of marrying him.

Not the prospect of not getting an engagement ring.

The next day I did what I now realize was everything in my power to make him NEVER want to marry me or any other female on the planet.

I may or may not have convinced him he needed to go golfing alone.

Then, upon picking him up at the golf course afterward, I lectured him for the entire 15-minute drive to the hotel about how insensitive it was to go golfing on a romantic weekend.

Then the next evening, after a bottle of wine, things became crystal clear.

It was on the balcony of our hotel room that I drunkenly declared — and this is a little fuzzy for a few reasons —

YOU ARE NEVER GONNA ASK ME TO MARRY YOU, ARE YOU?

YOU DON’T THINK I AM SPECIAL ENOUGH TO SPEND THE REST OF YOUR LIFE WITH, DO YOU?

THIS IS LIKE 1993 ALL OVER AGAIN, ISN’T IT?

ISN’T IT???

And then I allegedly gave him the finger.

But I can’t be sure because of a bottle of wine, rage, and lots of cheese.

In my defense, I hadn’t pooped in three days.

There was no AC in our hotel room.

And I was under a lot of stress because of the murder-for-hire plot.

 

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The next afternoon, over Pepto-Bismol, Sprite, cheese shaped like the state of Wisconsin, and saltine crackers on the same balcony, Mike finally popped the question.

And as weird as it sounds, it was spontaneous and hugely romantic.

It was the middle of the afternoon. The sun was shining. We were wearing dingy T-shirts and shorts, and we hadn’t been fighting in over two hours, which was good as far as that trip went.

It was imperfectly perfect.

I remember the two of us crying so hard.

But the story we told everyone was from the previous night because it just makes a better story.

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I always wonder what would have happened if I had been a little less cautious back in 1993.

Would we have gotten married in our 20s?

I can’t go down that rabbit hole because then I wouldn’t have my Annie, and I am so grateful for the relationship that brought her to me.

And maybe we wouldn’t have even had Ellie.

And what a travesty that would be.

Plus, we wouldn’t have these stories to tell them when they are older.

Like, way older.

When we are in the nursing home and are trying to get the good Jell-O.