Brian and I will be celebrating our 10th wedding anniversary this week. This story is part of how that happened.
I first laid eyes on him across a smoky dance floor in Paris. I was wearing a scarlet evening gown slit up to my ears, he looked incredibly dapper in his classic black tux. As soon as I saw him, I knew – this was the man I would spend the rest of my life with…
Actually, that’s not how it happened AT ALL. We met in the grubby studio of our college radio station some evening in the fall of our freshman year. I was behind the board (technically behind the dj who was behind the board) when Brian walked into the room. I was almost too busy flirting with the training director to notice the tall guy who walked in. I do remember thinking to myself “Gee, that’s the biggest dork I’ve ever seen.”
In my defense, he was wearing the most stereotypical version of the 90s whit e guy uniform EVER – white tee shirt with Calvin and Hobbes, grimy baseball cap, loose-fit jeans. Come on. In his defense, it WAS the 90s and I may or may not have been wearing an honest-to-God flannel shirt at the time.
We didn’t actually start dating for well over a year – spring of sophomore year. Our friends had a big hand in getting us together. Basically every last one of them told us we’d better start going out or they’d never speak to either of us again. (It may have had something to do with long, mooning conversations about “Oh I like him sooooo much” and “I wonder if she really likes me?” I’d have stopped being friends with me too.)
I do remember the evening it all changed for me though, when Brian went from being a great friend to someone I really thought I could you know, LIKE. The radio station held a Valentine’s Day dance every year. Somehow, I got it into my head that I was going to (how do I put this? My mother and mother-in-law both read this blog) “turn the head” of the guy I liked once and for all (same guy I was flirting with back in paragraph 2). I found an old costume in the theatre loft – God only knows what show it was from. It was black “satin” with a sequin and rhinestone dragon splayed across the front and it was slit hip-high. It was about a size too small. (I was thin enough not to mind wearing a dress a size too small.) It was held together with safety pins and Velcro. ( was moderately more nervous about the intefrity of the safety pins and Velcro.) There is no photographic evidence of my ever wearing this dress, so don’t bother to ask.
I showed up at the dance and Mr. Flirty wasn’t there. I was so bummed. I decided to hang out with my friends and have some fun before I stalked, er hunted, er, um, found him. The DJs (two professors who ended up DJ-ing our wedding) announced it was time for the Twist Contest. I shouted out in my most demure voice (somewhat akin to a fog horn) “Gary, I can’t twist in this dress!” Gary responded “Missy, that dress is the reason we’re having a twist contest!”
I declined to twist but shortly after that there was a slow dance played. Brian asked me to dance. Hoo-boy did I get some nasty looks from his girlfriend. (Yes he was going out with someone else at the time, no she was not a fan of our slow dance.) I can’t tell you why, but that night it sort of clicked for me – hey Brian’s not so bad. The tux he was wearing helped.
For the next few weeks, the pressure from our friends was ON. We spent every Tuesday and Thursday together (I managed a magical schedule that only had classes Monday, Wednesday and Friday that semester). We started a radio show together. Our friends intentionally didn’t sit next to either of us so that when the other came into the dining hall, the only seat left was next to the other.
After a few more weeks of this near-constant onslaught, we figured out that – duh!! – we should really be going out. And the rest, as they say, is history.
