I read a post on another blog that told how the writer met her husband, many years before. With S
t. Valentine’s Day approaching, my how-we-met story seemed like just the thing to include here. I did change the names of a couple of the characters* in this tale, but the story is true.
Cynthia* and I had been sharing the apartment for a couple of weeks when she asked my advice. "There's this guy I'm crazy about. His name is Mike* and he works for my dad," she said. "I sure can't call and ask him for a date, but maybe I can invite him over to see our new apartment. What do you think?"
(This was the late 1960s and most women still weren't quite liberated enough to initiate a date.)
"Call him," I answered. "I can stick around for a while and then go out somewhere and leave you two alone."
Cynthia picked up the phone and dialed.
Mike said okay, but he had one condition - he wanted to bring along his buddy, someone for Cynthia's roommate.
She put her hand over the phone. "Do you mind? I'll owe you big time if you say yes."
"Sure! Why not?"
So, Mike brought along a guy named Bob with a weird last name. I did leave the apartment after a while, as promised, so that Cynthia and Mike could be alone. But I didn't leave by myself, even though Bob really wasn't my type. I liked tall thin guys, and Bob was an ex-football player with a thick neck and big hands. But he was intelligent and had a wicked sense of humor, he knew the words to all of Bob Dylan's songs, and he was such a good kisser! He was someone I could fall in love with, if I was interested in falling in love with someone, which I wasn't.
Later I found out that Mike actually brought Bob with him as protection against the wedding bells he saw in Cynthia's eyes! Since she was the daughter of his boss, he was in a sticky situation. But eventually, Cynthia got the message.
Mike never came back to the apartment, but Bob did. We married one year after that first date and are still married forty years later.
Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!