Tuesday, August 13, 2013

Love At First BMW


Lately, I’ve been reading some “How Me and My Husband Met, Fell In Love, Broke Up, Got Back Together, Got Engaged, Almost Broke Up While Planning the Wedding, Eventually Agreed to Get Married Because We Already Paid All the Deposits So We Might As Well Have a Good Party Even If We Eventually End Up Divorced” stories of some of my favorite bloggers. I’m not sure if I’m inspired by all the love or the three glasses of wine I’ve imbibed, but I decided sharing my own happily ever story would be the bestest of all best ideas ever.

I’m a bit reluctant to do this since the whole, how we met part, doesn’t paint me in the best light. And also, that was eleven years ago and I honestly cannot be expected to remember everything that happened, so there’s a very real possibility I’m going to make stuff up…which due to my overactive imagination and wine consumption mentioned above should not be a problem at all.

Some of you are probably all, ugh, I do not come here for the romantic gushy stuff.  Let me assure you, there will be very little of that. The husband and I are some of the least romantic people ever. In fact, the way we officially started dating went exactly like this:

Me: I’m a freshman in college. I don’t want a boyfriend.

The husband: I don’t want a girlfriend.

And then we proceeded to spend the next eleven years together.

I shall start our tale at the very beginning, because as Julie Andrews once sang, “It’s a very good place to start.” (However, every writer knows the very best place to start a story is at the end (or at least the middle), but then that brings us to now and my three glasses of wine and having to hit the backspace key every three letters because typing while drinking is a challenge, and honestly, they should include that in the manual when you buy a new computer.)

The scene: It’s the first Thursday (the night everyone goes out in Gainesville) back from winter break of my freshman year. My friends and I are driving around aimlessly because we took way too long getting ready (in what, at the time, we would have described as totally hot outfits, but looking back were totally ridiculous and/or kinda slutty, but not totally slutty because we did/do have some standards) and the lines to get into all da clubs were way too long.
We see a white BMW and then we see BOYS in the white BMW so we decide to follow them. We do not notice if the BOYS are cute, because hello, B. M.W. Who cares if they are cute? (I am so, so ashamed to write that. Seriously, me? You got all hot and bothered by a BMW? Now, if I see I guy in a beamer I’m all, so just how far beyond your means are you living? I bet you don’t even have a 401(k). Gross.)
We pull up next to them at a red light. They roll down their window and are all, “hey follow us back to our dorm.” And we’re all, “that sounds like the responsible and safe thing to do,” and so we do. (Sorry, Mom.)
We pull into the parking lot and pile out of our respective cars. And then…the husband and I see each other and it is love at first sight.
Wrong.
The husband is not in the white BMW. Who is in the white BMW is a guy my friends and I went to high school with. This guy is a total jerkface meanie and we quickly conclude at all his friends must also be total jerkface meanies and we most definitely should not go to their dorm room.
But apparently a Bee. Em. Doubleyou. outweighs any number of jerkface meanies so we follow them to their dorm.
Where the husband and I see each other and it is love at first sight.
Wrong.
The husband is not there when we get there because the husband and his friends did not take too long getting dressed in ridiculous and/or kinda slutty outfits and actually made it into da clubs before the lines got too long.
My friends and I sit on a pink pleather couch and the owner of the BMW proceeds to talk my friend Mary’s ear off while she gives us pleading, desperate looks of, please get me the hell out of here. But we were all, “Mary, remember. Bee. Em. Doubleyou.”
Then two girls come into the already crowded dorm room and proceed to dance on the coffee table, and it is, quite possibly, the most entertained I have ever been in my whole life. Ever.
Finally, the door to the dorm room opens. And like a beacon in the night, I see blinding white teeth in the black light. Those teeth? Belonged to the husband (who was only known to me at the time as the guy with really white teeth in this black light).
Our eyes meet and it is…
Love at first sight?
Complete indifference?
Unadulterated lust?
You’ll have to tune in tomorrow (or next week, or whenever I freaking get around to it) to find out!
Please tell me you’re interested in coming back to find out what happens. Otherwise, I might be forced to dig out my old, ridiculous and/or slutty clothes and drive around seeking out overcompensating males operating modes of transportation they cannot afford…and lecture them for being so fiscally irresponsible, at least open a Roth or something, gosh.
 Comment gem!

See? This is what sucks about being female. Because the appropriate response to Irishman's behavior is screaming "Fuck off!" into his face, but some guys take that as an invitation to become violent.

 

8 comments:

  1. Of COURSE I want to know what happened! I met my husband ten years ago. He was drunk, I was drunker, I was singing I love Rock & Roll with tinsel round my neck, he lied and told me he was a mechanic, I bought him a drink.........and nine short years later we finally had a conversation that went "think we should get married?" "Yeah". "So we're engaged?" "Yeah, I'll book a party". Voila!

    ReplyDelete
  2. THAT is like letting someone read part of your book and then not sharing the rest!!! DO NOT do that to me again!!!

    ReplyDelete
  3. Hells yes I want more! Drink more wine and write the sequel, please!!

    ReplyDelete
  4. You're adorable.

    As you may have heard, Hubby and I met in fifth grade and have been together since we were 16. We're adorable too. However, I don't know what was wrong with me because I totally didn't go for any fancy BMW. Hubby had his gran's hand-me-down 1988 white cavalier. It did have a wicked sound system though. Because he was that cool.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Hahaha!! So fun! I can't wait for the next installment.

    ReplyDelete
  6. We wouldn't have any fun in our youth is we had any sense. I'm from Brooklyn, so me and my friends would've had the same reaction to a Trans Am, which is much more embarrassing in retrospect than a BMW.

    ReplyDelete
  7. Love that you are sharing this story! Don't leave us waiting too long for the next installment!

    ReplyDelete
  8. We are BMW M3 lovers! We teach you Seats how to wash them, clean them, fix them, drive them, and we have every used part you will ever need for your M3!www.areliu.com – Facebook.com Like AreliU

    ReplyDelete

I had to change my comment settings because I was getting too much spam. You can no longer comment anonymously. (I don't think anyone besides the spammers were doing this.) But I don't want to block the rest of you from commenting! If you're having trouble, tweet me at @sarcasmgoddess or email sarcasmgoddess at ymail dot com and I'll see what I can do to fix it.