Mr. Ladyfingers and I started our first date on a great ice-breaking note. He had sort of asked me out over chat—CHAT!—so I kindasorta lied and told him my computer was being quirky and could he call me? That’s how I tricked him into asking me out like a man: With his voice. I was super nervous and had gotten my hair all cut that day and my makeup all done by my friend, and I agonized over clothing. I don’t know what he was doing, but he tells me he was pretty nervous, too.
He was supposed to pick me up at 7:00, and when he called at 7:05, I went all OMGHE’sHEREWHATDOIDOOOO? And I answered the phone all “Hellooo?” Turns out, he wasn’t here. He was lost. Many moons later, I discovered he’s really terrible at directions. Like, as in, he has no sense of them. So once I got him to my place and got in the car, he started out with this gem:
“So, I thought we could flip this quarter, and whoever wins buys dinner.”
*cricket*cricket*
I believe he was immediately embarrassed that the joke he rehearsed on the whole way over just didn’t sound as funny coming out of his mouth. He still shouts and covers his ears when I bring that up today. It’s totally cringe inducing for him, which I find adorable.
An attempt at our first Christmas family portrait (personal photo)
Guess what? We had the best time ever. I was pretty nervous because I don’t drink, and I was scared he’d want to go to a bar and find out I’m a wet noodle and leave me with no ride home. That didn’t happen. We bonded big time over our weirdo waitress, and then went to a 24-hour Starbucks where I made the first joke that made him crack up (and which he claims made him fall in love with me right then and there), and we talked for hours about our families, music, and bad first dates. Of which this most certainly was not.
He dropped me off, did the first-kiss thing, and I was over the moon.
And so it went from there.
Photo by Short’s Shots
For the first year, we did this whole commuter-dating thing. He lived an hour south of me, so he came to my place for one weekend, and I went to his for the next. We took a trip to visit his family in New York after three months, and to Maine after five months to go to one of his best friends’ weddings. That’s where I met his second family—his four very best friends from college (the four groomsmen, BTW) and their wives—and finally felt comfortable in his life. It takes me time, folks.
In late 2009, we finally talked about moving in together. Actually, we had mentioned it here and there, and I had stressed that he wouldn’t want to. I agonized, I brought it up, and he went, “Yeah, of course.” That was easy. Sort of like everything else in our relationship.
In May 2010, we moved in together into a cute rented house in St. Petersburg. We adopted a dog in June and held Thanksgiving here for my dad and his fiancee. And I grew increasingly annoyed that he wasn’t asking me to marry him.
So, would he pop the question? Wait, you already know the answer to that…well, stay tuned for our final installment of “Who Are We, Anyway” anyway, in which I’ll reveal to you just how he got down on one knee and how this whole crazy wedding-planning thing got started anyway.
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