So there I was, walking down the hall like I owned the place. 21 years old, 6' 1", 175 lbs., sun-bleached streaks through my shoulder-length brown hair, ripped jeans, black cowboy boots, denim jacket, keys jingling on my belt, when I saw her.
Her ass, more specifically. Bent over the department secretary's desk, blue denim stretched tight across an unfamiliar ass. Hmmm, must be September, fresh meat coming to campus.
So I backed up a step, checked out the rest of the package. Blonde, not bad; short, that works, I dig short chicks; funky hat, wild glasses - this one could be fun.
Before the day was out I found out her name was Suzy, she was in three of my classes, she lived in Charlotte and had just transferred in as a junior. By the end of the week I found out she had started back to school after taking a year off to be with her dying mother, so when her mom died, she came to Winthrop for a new start. I found out she was crazy-wild, showing up to my apartment with a sports bottle full of screwdrivers and taking me to the bar where her dad worked to party for the night.
By the end of the month we were pretty serious and I had figured out that there was a lot going on with this chick, and she was gonna be worth hanging around because shit was always interesting when she was with me. By the end of the semester I had dropped the other two chicks I was seeing and was spending most of my nights at her place in Charlotte, preferring the 45-minute drive from campus to the 15-minute drive to my rented place with two other guys.
By the end of the next semester I knew I loved her, and had asked her to marry me when we finished school. And six months after I graduated, that's just what we did.
I was right, there is a lot going on with this chick, and shit is always interesting with her around. We fight like cats and dogs sometimes, snuggle like disgusting teenagers other times, and you don't want to read about the rest :). But ten years ago this weekend, I went into work and asked my boss for a long lunch so I could go downtown and get my marriage license. When the blue-haired Betty behind the counter said Honey, ya'll know you can go right across the street and get married anytime, right? we did just that.
Along the way we picked up Dawn & Darryl to be witnesses to our wedding, because they happened to be in the magistrate's office swearing out a complaint against Dawn's boyfriend (not Darryl) for beating her in the head with a telephone the night before, and we exchanged out vows into the microphone through the bulletproof glass at the Mecklenburg County courthouse. Dawn cried, Darryl beamed, and I think there might even have been a gleam in the judge's eye as he pronounced us husband and wife.
So this afternoon we're headed up to Asheville to take a candlelight tour of the Biltmore Estate, stay in a private cottage at a bed & breakfast, complete with champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries (and a jacuzzi tub), and we're going to spend a couple of days away from the computer, away from the various theatres, and I'm going to thank my best friend in the world for sharing her life with me for the past ten years, and ask her very nicely to stick around for the next fifty or so.
You guys enjoy your weekend, and hug somebody you love.