Once upon a time…

Towards the end of my first semester at college in 1979, my roommate decided we needed to go out.  I wasn’t at all interested, but she insisted.  I remember that I didn’t dress up:  Flannel shirt, jeans, hiking boots, no make-up.  Fine – I’ll go, but I don’t want to.

We went to a place called The 16th St. Station.  Not a club, a bar.  To call it a “dive” would have been generous.  It was, however, hugely popular with the college crowd.

As we entered the area with the pool tables, I didn’t notice the tall, skinny and drunk cowboy leaning on a pool cue.  He apparently noticed me, because within just a few minutes he shouted across the room, “You’re the girl I’m gonna marry.”  He was looking right at me.

Right.  Not interested.  At all.  “Leave me alone, you drunken cowboy.”

The next week he called me.  He asked me to go on a date.  I said yes.  Why?  No clue.

We get in his car and drive to the Station.  He’s forgotten his wallet.  Why am I not surprised?  Why am I even here?  We drive back to his dormitory’s parking lot and proceed to talk into the early hours.

We started dating.  He continued to assert that we would marry.  I continued to disagree.

Fast forward to May of 1983.  We graduate.  He is no longer asking me to marry him.  So I asked him.

On September 11, 1983 we get married.

Today, September 11th, is our 31st anniversary…some rough years, some awesome times, a mixed bag of love, friendship, patience, yelling, crying, endurance, tolerance and stubbornness.

He taught me what love is.  He gave the word love definition and meaning.

Happy anniversary David.  You are my best friend.  I’m planning on happily ever after and on being there for…

The End.