The night I met my husband

I met my husband on a blind date on January 9, 2005. We were given each other's phone numbers by my cousin. So we arranged a date to meet, and I cancelled.
I thought he was going to be a fugly dud.

But eventually I agreed to meet him. What did I have to lose? After all, I would probably get a nice dinner out of the deal, and a much needed night away from my 2 girls. I spent a few hours getting ready, trying to find an outfit with that perfect balance of sweet and slutty. He wanted to come pick me up, but I wanted to prove that I was all independent and tough, so I met him at his place. I pulled up to a nice little house. To me at the time, it looked like a new fancy starter home where richy people lived. I rang the doorbell, and took a deep breath.

I was shitting my pants very nervous. My divorce was being finalized, and even though my first husband and I were very much over and done, I didn't know if I was quite ready to begin dating. Things had been so hard the past few months.
After the most perfect, beautiful wedding in the history of weddings, our marriage had lasted just a short year. My first husband and I had tried counseling. I tried begging. I had tried everything I could think of to try to keep him with me and keep our marriage together, but of course nothing works when the guy is banging the local bartender skeeze-bag....
Our marriage had been tough. Duh. Anyone who is married and has any sort of day-to-day troubles knows that marriage is hard. It takes 2 people who want to make it work. Granted, I hadn't been the bestest wife in the world either. I have a habit of nagging, picking fights, and being high maintenance in the romance department. I even kissed someone else before I was married. I had a few wild oats to sow....but once we were married, I tried like hell in that short year to make it work.  I loved his family and wanted so badly to grow old together. But it just wasn't meant to be. Once I knew he wasn't "there" anymore, I pulled my heart out and pulled up my big-girl panties, pulled the beautiful perfect wedding pictures off the wall, pulled together what dignity I had left and "turned the light off" on that one.

So I really didn't know if I was ready to date. Especially since I didn't even know this man. My cousin had told me he was in banking and he had glasses, and that his name was Shannon, but that was it. So in my head I pictured a fat, old, balding man with glasses and black socks-with-sandals who liked golf, was secretly gay (because of his girly name), and had a big fur-covered recliner. Fur covered from his 17 Guinea pigs dressed like characters in The Wizard of Oz.

I glanced through the little window next to the door and I saw him coming down the stairs to let me in. Holy balls! He was actually attractive. Shit, I hope this isn't my date's roommate or brother or personal trainer or something. That would be my luck. He opened the door and the first thing I noticed was his beautiful sparkly blue eyes. I couldn't look away. He said, "Hi, I'm Shannon."

Jackpot!!!

In my head I was all dancing around (YESSSSS!), but on the outside I was all cool and trying my best to look intriguing and sexy. (I suck at sexy. I'm cute, but in no way, shape, or form, am I sexy.)

We agreed to eat at Applebees' in St Cloud, a short drive away. We got into his car, an Alero, and I was so nervous, I was afraid he was going to smell my sweaty armpits. I barely knew him, and we were sitting a foot apart in his black little girly car. I hoped I didn't have rodent breath. I shifted in my seat, wiped my wet palms on my jeans, and we made some small talk, which I am totally not good at.

Him: "So, what kinds of things do you like to do?"
Me: "Umm, I like to drive."
Him: "Oh. Where do you go?"
Me: "Places."

Him: "Where do you work?"
Me: "At DBL."
Him: "What do they do there?"
Me: "Make stuff."
Him: "Uh, what kind of stuff?"
Me: "Eyeglasses."

When I am forced to make small talk, there are all sorts of those uncomfortable awkward silences. That silence is the LOUDEST silence imaginable. All you do is try not to fart, so you pinch your knees together, and try not to let your throat make that weird gurgly noise.

In what seemed like 5 years later, we pulled up to the restaurant, and were seated at a booth. I looked over the menu, intelligently avoiding anything gas-inducing. I couldn't stop stealing glances at him over my menu. He was wearing a white with blue stripes button down shirt, and he had rolled the cuffs up to his elbows. He was wearing perfectly distressed jeans, and some brown casual shoes. He was so fricken hot I couldn't contain myself. I was dancing in my seat. I really wanted to make a good impression.

I'm sure I acted like an idiot. I don't get out much, and I have the world's most socially-awkward mother. My mom does things like laugh loudly at people in public, says wildly-inappropriate things at very inappropriate times, and is generally inappropriate. Sometimes it's fun, but most times you want to duck and cover. So I don't really have a good social compass to go by. Anyways, he seemed to be impressed by my skills with the steak knife, so he invited me for a beer at a close-by bar.

God knows alcohol and lack of social skills don't mix, but he was sufficiently amused enough to keep talking to me. And smiling. Gosh, his smile was amazing. His whole face just lit up every time he smiled. I'm sure I looked like a complete ass, just smiling and staring at him and nodding, but I didn't care.

We went back to his place and sat on the floor. Now you couldn't get me to shut up. Now I was totally an open book, and we talked for a few hours. I had to tear myself up off the floor to go back home and back to my girls. We hugged and I left.

He called the next night when I was in the tub. I told him how totally naked and covered in bubbles I was, and that sealed the deal. He was hooked. Oldest trick in the book.

The next weekend, we went to a Timberwolves basketball game. We had so much fun, laughing and talking, that we didn't even watch the game. There were no silences. When we got back to his place, we were saying goodbye and I couldn't take it anymore. I pressed up against him, hard, put my hand around the back of his neck, and kissed him with all the pent up frustrations of past and present. I may have bit him.

He liked it. I left, knowing full well that I had him. Had him like Kim Kardashian has her bubblicious ass. We have been together ever since that day.

We were married August 6, 2006. Our wedding day was hot, the DJ never showed up, I didn't enjoy the food because I was knocked up and nauseous with our first baby, and I wasn't able to get drunk and happy with everyone else. Needless to say I didn't have a good time. It was not a picture-perfect wedding. Even the wedding pictures were bad.

 It goes to show, that a perfect wedding does not a perfect marriage make. 

After all, the toughest iron is forged through fire.

The road has been a crazy one. We have gone through so much together, and it's not over. But we have so much animalistic bow-chicka-bow-wow attraction to each other, commitment to each other and our marriage, and friendly companionship together, that no matter what, we will always be.

 I'm totally the peanut butter to his chocolate cup.