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 and their cute courtship tales?
That is not us.
Our story is so far from that, you could be standing 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?
Oh sure, there are the pictures of us plastered at the local Applebee’s with friends and I am pretty sure one of them involves my husband giving the finger.
We are classy like that.
In fact, our wedding photographer wasn’t hired until about 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.
Disclaimer- I swear we do not have an alcohol problem. Really. Oh, and there is a lot of pixilation because apparently the story of “us” is much more Raising Arizona than Father of the Bride.
|On the train ride home that fateful night.
Of the Cornholio Incident.
Beavis Isn’t The Way To Win Over A Woman.
Unless You Are Me.
I first remember meeting my future husband at the train station on the way to Taste of Chicago the summer of 1993.
A huge group of people went into the city that summer night to get drunk and eat food.
But mostly to get drunk.
And he and I were two of them.
In fact, I had my eye on another attendee of said “Drink of Chicago”.
My future husband’s BFF, if you will.
This you need to know: Beavis and Butthead had just become insanely popular that summer.
Anyhoo mid-evening, the future husband comes up to me, sees my cup of something and asks me “what are you drinking?”
I told him “bourbon”.
I wasn’t drinking bourbon.
Back then, they only offered beer at the Taste but I didn’t like beer so I was drinking pop.
All. Night. Long.
With my friends.
Who were all drunk.
He offered to get me more “bourbon” and I said “sure”.
For two reasons:
1- I wanted to see if he could really find me some. Because I was getting bored. And kind of thirsty.
And B- I was not interested.
It wasn’t until all 15 of us stumbled through the streets of Chicago on the way back to Union Station that he hooked me.
He started doing Beavis impersonations.
Dead on Beavis impersonations.
The laughter, OMG THE LAUGHTER of all of our mutual friends.
I AM CORNHOLIO.
ARE YOU THREATENING ME?!?!
Where have you been my whole life???
The pixilation is there to protect the non-hugger.
Dating. Duggar Style.
Six weeks after the Beavis incident, I was standing in the Misses department at Kohl’s (where I worked at the time) being asked out on a date.
I was wearing a black top, plaid mini skirt and shoe boots.
He had a box of Nike shoes in his hand.
But he didn’t really need Nikes.
He didn’t ask me out in his Beavis voice by the way.
Anyway, we went to a White Sox game, had a great time and talked non-stop the entire date.
BUT I was in an “I don’t want to rush into anything” kind of place.
I had been in two different relationships over the previous three years and just wanted to take it slowwwww.
So we dated like the Duggars for six full weeks.
No holding hands.
Only a hug at the end of the night.
Amish in Rumspringa was doin’ more than us in those six weeks.
He even invited me to his other best friend’s wedding the next month, so I figured he must really like me even with the whole Amish lovin’ thang we had going on.
So when he stopped calling, naive me was baffled.
It wasn’t until a few days later while I was at a local bar with a group of friends when one of his friends informed me that Duggar boy was dating a girl in their apartment building.
He ditched me.
Oh yes, and they were doing much more than hugging.
But I liked sports!
I could down a platter of nachos and let out a big belch!
He loved down to earth girls!!!
Apparently, he also loved girls who put out as well.
She got to go to the wedding too.
|We take a great picture, don’t we?
Call us Brad and Angelina of the Midwest.
Mike’s Hard Lemonade was our E Harmony.
Fast forward nine years late to a party at my future husband’s house.
When a mutual friend (the BFF who I originally had a crush on…the irony isn’t lost on me) and I were talking about “the old days” and the whole Duggar/Beavis/ManWhore episode of 1993 comes up.
All of a sudden I blurt out that I may possibly kind of maybe have a few of those feelings for him.
Because Mike’s Hard Lemonade.
Ten minutes later, said friend comes up to me and says all GI JOE code word-like: “It’s done. The deal is done!”
DID YOU JUST BUY A HOUSE!?!?!
“Noooo….I told him that you like him.”
My husband found out that I thought he was special at his housewarming party surrounded by a townhouse full of drunken 30 somethings.
Magic moments, people. Magic. Moments.
Almost full circle to the night we first met, when you think about it.
Except instead of Doc Martens, Pearl Jam and big hair, there was Kelly Clarkson. spanx and big hair.
Two weeks later, we went on our first date.
And two years later, the hubs was down on one knee.
In what we like to call “the proposal incident”.
|This was the best wedding photo we took that day.|
Door Flippin’ County.
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 did happen:
– I ate lots and lots of cheese shaped like the state of Wisconsin.
– I sat out on the balcony of our hotel room. A lot.
– I went to the library. While on a “romantic” vacation.
– I got lost trying to find the library. While on a “romantic” vacation.
– The future husband went golfing alone. While on a “romantic” vacation.
– He ran out of money.
– We watched Brian’s Song. Three times.
I had no idea he had plans to propose on this trip.
But on night two, he started acting really weird.
Once we got back to our hotel room after dinner, he decided that he wanted us to take a walk.
In the pitch black darkness of night.
We sat at this gazebo on the grounds of the hotel and he started yammering.
Which was unusual because he is not a yammerer.
Then I noticed his hands were clammy.
It was then that I thought, “Holy crap is he gonna ask me to marry him?”
Then I was all…HOLY CRAP HE IS TOTALLY GOING TO ASK ME TO MARRY HIM!
Until after 15 minutes of said yammering, he got up and said, let’s go back to the hotel room.
24 hours later, no question was asked.
No ring was presented.
And it was around this time that I started to get mad.
Like, REALLY, REALLY mad.
WHY DOESN’T HE WANT TO MARRY ME, DAMMIT?!?
I AM A CATCH!
WHAT IS WRONG WITH HIM?!?!
At that point, I was more infuriated with the prospect that he didn’t think I was worthy of marrying him.
Not at all with the prospect of getting an engagement ring.
Like we always used to semi-jokingly say when we were dating, “it’s not a competition”.
It was SO a competition.
It was ON.
The next day I did, what I now realize, everything in my power to make him NEVER want to marry me or any other female on the planet.
In an eight hour period, I went from angry to melancholy to a raging lunatic.
I may or may not have convinced him that he needed to go golfing.
Then upon picking him up, scream at him for the 15-minute drive to the hotel, about how insensitive it was to go golfing on a “romantic weekend”.
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) that YOU ARE NEVER GONNA ASSSK ME TO MARRY YOU! ARE YOUUUU!?!?!?!
That YOU DON’T THINK I AM SSSPECIAL ENOUGH TO SSSPEND THE RESSSST OF YOUR LIFE WITH?!?!
And, that THISSS ISSS LIKE 1993 ALL OVER AGAIN, ISSSN’T IT?
And then I allegedly gave him the finger.
I wish I were making this up.
The next afternoon, over sprite, cheese (shaped like the state of Wisconsin) and crackers on the same balcony, my future husband did indeed pop the question.
And as weird as it sounds, it was spontaneous.
It was middle of the afternoon and we were wearing tee shirts and shorts.
Not at a candlelight dinner or on the beach with a guitar player in the background.
It was perfect.
We laughed, we cried, the usual banter.
But the story he told everyone was from the previous night.
Because really, that was the more interesting story, let’s face it.
I always wonder what would have happened had I not pulled a Duggar back in 1993.
But then I wouldn’t have my Annie.
Or possibly even my Ellie.
And we wouldn’t have these stories to tell them when they are older.
Like when we are in the nursing home and are trying to get the good Jell-O.