Gather ‘round, gather 'round children, it’s story time. Well it’s a true story. Not like E! True Hollywood story, but a real story. It’s about your dad and me. So it is true and it did take place sort of near Hollywood, and we aren’t celebrities, but we probably are to you. Okay, so it’s a story, and it’s true, and it’s about us, and now I’m tired.
Where were we? Oh yes. So I am just going to tell you up front, this story has a happy ending. D'awwww, I know, adorbs. Your dad and I do end up together so you can relax. But it does get weird in the middle. Something about your dad living on a ranch with horses and me spending way too much time with fruit flies.
Four score and seven years ago, your dad and I met. Well forget the four score part, but it was about seven years ago. Well it was seven years ago and about a month. December 12th, 2007 to be exact, but who is counting? I was a wide-eyed Freshman at California Lutheran University. It was a week before finals of my first semester and I was loving the college life. I had made some good friends, made some interesting life choices, and realized I would never be a history major based on my general ed ancient civilizations course that made me want to pry my eyeballs out. (By the way, I was a biology major).
Our little old college was nestled in between a bunch of oak trees and a bunch of retirement community homes and elementary schools. So the night life included 6 pm stops to Little Ceasar’s for bread sticks and ice cream runs to Rite Aid. But the only hip-hopping place to be for the college folk was at a country-western-bar-turned-top-40-hip-hop-18-and-over night on Wednesdays. Borderline. Oh yes.
While I did not go every Wednesday night that first semester, my friends and I were there quite frequently. What’s a girl to do? But the week before finals, I was up to my armpits in books and flashcards trying to study for my first set of college finals (gasp). But some friends and I decided that before we have nervous breakdowns, we had better get out of the dorms and avoid study-induced cabin fever. So we put on some cute dresses and heels (see, poor life choices to think that dancing in heels is fun) and off we went to dance our little hearts out.
*Mystic guru voice* With eighteen year-old coeds comes fourty year-old creepers. As you can imagine, about 90% of the clientele on Wednesdays was college students but we did have a chunk of those icky lurkers who wanted to dance with the gazelle that broke away from the herd. Any who, my friends and I caught the eyes of some such fellows (ick). My friend Jessica (sophomore at the time) decided to play savior and pluck some of her male friends out of the crowd to dance with us littles. And lo and behold, she grabbed Mr. Paul to dance with me. Didn’t see that one coming did ya?
Well, it was a cute meet if I ever saw one. We danced the night away. I thought he was a FOX and he probably thought I was a good enough dancer. (By the way, mommy can dance and daddy cannot, so let’s get that out of the way.)
We exchanged digits that night and started texting the next day. Now a little thing about your dad. He was a hot shot junior and a top player on the tennis team. So no pressure. But that’s okay, I had my eye on him and I am one determined woman.
We talked throughout Christmas break and I was completely smitten. Come spring quarter, he wanted to “focus on tennis” and “didn’t want to be tied down in a relationship” (pssh, 20 year-olds for ya). I also played tennis so I rolled my eyes on that one.
In March 2008, I had one of my I am woman, hear me roar moments and told him that if he wasn’t interested in really dating me then I was outtie. Street cred. Yup. But thankfully (for him) he realized that I was a keeper and we started dating officially, like on Facebook. I know, you’re probably gagging.
