My husband disliked me intensely the first time we met. True story.
I have a list of blog topics written in my cute little notebook, but none of them appeal to me tonight. Instead, you get to hear about how I met my husband. Stop making that face. I know deep down inside you’re squealing with excitement.
When people ask how Car and I met, my pat answer is, “I stole him from my roommate.” Understandably, this annoys him, since he never actually dated my roommate. I, however, stand by that assertion, because she invited him to our apartment with the express intent of making a move on him. Also, it makes a better story, right?
I (Jenny) lived in an apartment with 3 other women (Jennifer, Johanna and Georgia). I’m not making those names up. Jennifer and Car went to the same mission, and she ran into him at a missionary homecoming for someone they both knew. She was interested in him and invited him over. And then…he met me.
(I really wish I could insert some sort of ominous “duh-duh-DUH” music there to make the moment dramatic. Imagine it in your head, won’t you?)
It’d be a great Utah County romance if I could say that our eyes met and we knew something was there from the start and that was it for us and we were engaged in a week and married in a month and lived happily ever after.
The real story is much more true to who I am. I commuted every day to my job as a secretary for a direct marketing company, and was tired most of the time. (I’m amazed by just how exhausting a one hour drive to and from work can be.) After work that night, I went to a movie with a friend–“Phenomenon.” Haven’t seen it? John Travolta dies. Now you don’t have to. I’m not a fan of emotionally manipulative movies (“Pay It Forward” made me near-homicidal), so by the time Phenomenon was over, I was pretty annoyed. Okay, I was pissed. And hungry, since it was probably about 10 pm and I hadn’t had dinner yet (me + low blood sugar = disaster).
You know, this is taking a lot longer than I expected. Feel free to take a potty break.
So Car came to the apartment that night, accompanied by his best friend, Nate. He didn’t want to face an apartment full of strange women without backup. Smart man.
I can’t remember exactly what happened that night. Car probably can, since I made quite an impression. He went home and told his father that he’d met a girl who had pretty eyes but was a massive jerk. Awesome. This begs the question: Why did he come back?
He was moved by the spirit.
HA! I totally had you there, didn’t I? Actually, his best friend sparked a mutual interest with Georgia. So when Nate wanted to come back, Car, being the stand-up guy he is, came along with him. When I arrived home from work, I was greeted by the sight of Car, Nate and Georgia setting up a game of Monopoly.
I hate Monopoly. I know! Who hates Monopoly? Communists. And me. They tried to interest me in playing, but that wasn’t going to happen. Until they played the pizza card. As I type that, I have to laugh. What if they hadn’t ordered pizza that night? Would I have refused to play? Would Car have gone to his grave thinking I was a social reject? Fortunately, they did order pizza, and apparently I’ll do anything for free food (shut up).
What I remember about the night: Car was charming and funny. Also, Georgia’s feet smelled really bad.
We struck up a casual friendship. He and Nate came over regularly. Nate and Georgia dated (presumably she kept her shoes on most of the time). We all hung out. I dated a whole bunch of different guys, none of whom were Car, which was fine, since he was my buddy.
Do you need a snack? I’ll wait here while you get it.
One night a big group of us went to rent a movie (Cougar Rentals! Anyone? Anyone?) and for some reason I was struck by the thought that Car would be a really fun guy to date. I may or may not have been staring at his rear end when I thought this. I plead the fifth.
We watched the movie at our apartment. The guys left. As we roommates lounged around, I said, “You know, Car would be fun to go out with.” Silence blanketed the room. Finally, Johanna said, “Jenny, Jen is dating Car.” (Could that sentence be more confusing?) I said something along the lines of, “Well, good on ya, Jen!” and went back to my life as usual.
About a week later, Car called. That wasn’t really unusual. After all, we were buddies, and buddies talk on the phone, right? This call was different–he asked me out. I was dumbfounded, but managed to say yes. We hung up, and I was overwhelmed with guilt. You don’t steal your roommate’s man! That’s, like, in a handbook somewhere! I called him back and said, “I can’t go out with you. My roommate likes you. But I’m moving out in a week and she won’t be my roommate any more, so call me then.”
Yeah, there’s a special place in Hell reserved for me. I’m okay with that. In my defense, I did specify that he needed to talk to her and clarify their lack of relationship. I’m just that thoughtful.
I’d say the rest is history, but that’s such a cliché. The rest is, however, best left for another post.
As I type this, I’m reminded of the fact that a large chunk of my close friends detested me at first sight. I find this concerning. What kind of relationships start with, “Oh, yeah. I totally hated you at first!” I’m trying to decide if this is a good thing (I inspire strong feelings in others) or a bad thing (I really need to work on my first impressions). Probably a little of both. I think time has mellowed me enough that current new acquaintances don’t wish for my untimely demise. Right, friends?
Let me live the dream, people. Don’t make me shank you.
*1065 words and what’s the WordPress proofreader’s quibble? I didn’t use a special character for the word “cliché.” Is the proofreader French? That would explain a lot.