Our First Date Was At McDonald's

(cartoon © Hugh MacLeod at www.gapingvoid.com)

If I can take some liberties here and insert a touch of saccharin-sweetness to bloggityville, I'm going to extol the wonderfulness of my hubby for a second or three.

The guy is, of course, gorgeous. I never thought I'd be into a guy with a full beard, but there you go.

As I was spooned up in bed with hubs last night, I got to thinking about the very first time we'd found ourselves arranged into the shape of a piece of cutlery. Just for the record, by the way, this story is very clean :P

A high school friend of mine had recently become engaged and the bloke to whom she was betrothed happened to have an out-of-town brother coming down for a visit one weekend. The usual suggestion of a double-date came up and before I knew it, couple + 1 had arrived at my door to pick me up. As I slid into the car, I glanced up, trying to forget about all the usual references to 'wing men' and 'making up the numbers'. I had been expecting the usual scenario of no-spark politeness, but whoa, was I ever wrong. The stakes were suddenly much, much higher. You know when you know you're absolutely the fourth wheel in an arrangement but for the most part you're okay with that because it might be a fun night out anyway? So you go along with zero expectations and still come home feeling like a good time was had by all? That was the set up to this particular evening. And then suddenly it mattered what he thought of me. I silently cursed my hair, my clothes, and the fact that my jeans had a pin-prick hole in the knee. Which he never did see.

The Couple and I had lived in this particular small town for years and the most exciting thing to have happened in the previous year was the opening of the new McDonald's (I briefly worked there as a fifteen year old but - ahem - we'll gloss over that particular gem...) So, naturally, that's where we went to eat. I remember being specifically thankful that we were not seated opposite one another because, well, have you ever tried to eat a Big Mac delicately? There's just no way.

We 'did laps' of the main street for a while (ahhh, the heady days of youth!) and headed back to my friend's house, an impromptu decision made on my part to stay overnight. That whole night, I was a fumbling idiot. Everything I did was mortifyingly embarrassing (I was not to find out until years later that those sentiments were mirrored exactly by the other party).

The four of us lived in each others' pockets for the weekend. I don't think I even made it home to my place until the Sunday night. But at some point new beau and I had to say goodbye and he had to head back off to the town he lived in at the time, several hours drive away.

I felt a bit lost for a few days, and then, in a fit of schoolgirl-itis, decided a letter was in order. So I sent him one, cringing with every word I wrote at the total cliched-ness of it all. But I still sent it. And he wrote back.

Over the next six months or so, there were many letters, but not that much face-to-face time. We were quite comfortable with each other in our notes, but the moment we got together (on a few visits dotted throughout that time) we were like twelve year olds holding hands again. Long story short (well, okay, shorter), leaps of faith were made (on both parts) and we eventually became an official 'item'. Which was rather ridiculous really, as we'd both been professing our love for months via the mailbox. But anyway.

Another six months later saw me move out of home and in with him. Ten odd years down the track, and I still think I hit the mark with this one. I think I'll keep him :)

People (obviously the ones who aren't yet married!) are forever promoting marriage as this Hallmark-inspired swooning love-fest. What bollucks. Marriage is freakin' hard work. But then you get his yang cuddled up with your ying (in a very clean way of course!) and you feel like there's nothing on earth you can't handle. There's safety. And contentment. And the knowledge that you'll forgive the toothpaste-encrusted sink and he'll forgive the burnt chops.

Well, the first few times anyway...

So hats off to hubbies, I say. They may not be perfect, but hey, we're not either.

Cheers,
Lizzie