When I first met my husband, I informed him that we would be getting married. In front of several witnesses and my parents. I was a take charge kind of gal. I knew what I wanted and made my decision. I'm pretty sure my boldness shocked everyone around. Did I mention I was five? Or that I proposed to him at kindergarten registration? No? Oops.
True story. We ended up in the same kindergarten class too. I think the teacher thought it was hilarious - until we had to be separated for kissing in line (calm down, it was only on the cheek). The school secretary thought it all very amusing, and tortured me mercilessly throughout my elementary school years. Our romance cooled after kindergarten and instead became a close friendship. I treasure the pictures of us together at his sixth birthday party, and if I ever can figure out how to scan and post those pictures, be assured that I will. Our friendship remained strong until the middle school years when our academic paths diverged and we were no longer in the same classes. Once we reached high school, however, we found that we had the same lunch hour and friends in common, and began a four year tradition of standing in the same group before school and eating lunch at the same table every single day. He quickly became my closest friend. At 17, I had jaw surgery, jaw wired shut and summer school all in the course of two months. My other friends bailed on their mute and perpetually bummed out pal. He was the one who may or may not have implied to the ICU nurse that he was my cousin so that he could come in and visit me post-op. He was the one brought milk shakes and called on the phone so that we could have indecipherable conversations that caused us to crack up uncontrollably. So, of course, I fell head over heels in love with him immediately, right? Um, no, not exactly. Instead, I went off to college and he found a job, and we figured that maybe we would see each other at a high school reunion or two.
To be continued. . .