I am not necessarily an advocate for multiple
daylogs so close to each other, but today is worth noting. It's my love's birthday.
He's 30. We
are now in different decades. It doesn't
bother me. People talk about age differences as though they're a big
deal. There are six years between his parents, seven between mine and
eight between us. It is the furthest thing from a big deal. I had lunch
with his family today. I'd be going out for dinner with them but I work
the night shift. The rest of his family is taking him out on Saturday.
I'll be there with bells on.
I've never told you the whole story.
I had just turned 20 as I started my third (junior) year of my
undergraduate degree. There had been some serious problems with the
university's scheduling system that summer, and I wound up having to
revamp my schedule as a result. I hadn't originally intended on taking
an introductory Canadian politics class, but there I was.
The
first scheduled lecture was cancelled, so the first actual class ended
up being at 8 a.m. on a Friday. I was tired, having been a commuter at this point in time, and so I had to get up even
earlier just to get there on time. There was nothing eventful about the
first lecture, but I did notice this cute geek boy sitting on the other
side of the room.
I gave it very little thought until we were all
waiting in the hallway before the next lecture, waiting for the class
that preceded us to leave so we could claim the good seats. I wondered
whether the cute boy was going to show up. Naturally, he showed up
right then, leaving me grinning like an idiot.
At him.
I was never good around boys.
I had not, however, been expecting him to smile back, walk up to me and say "Hi... it's Kerry, right?"
I
can only imagine what the look on my face might have been at that
moment. That is my name. I had no idea who this guy was, other than
"guy across the room." I confirmed that this was the case and extended
my hand because I didn't know what else to do. He shook my hand and
introduced himself as Jonathan, and I stood there and tried to figure
out who this guy was and how he knew me. I was fairly certain that I
hadn't already met him and forgotten about it. He was cute. I would
have remembered.
We chatted for a bit about the class. I don't
remember what I said; I was too busy trying to figure out what was
happening and trying to figure out why his eyes were so nice. He kept
looking at me in a fashion that was almost bemused. I looked away
briefly, then looked back.
He was still looking at me.
I believe I mentioned that I was never good around boys. This cannot be emphasized enough.
Nothing
else really happened that day, except that we waved goodbye to each
other as I left, and I immediately began formulating a plan to ask him
how he knew who I was the next time I saw him, which was at our next
lecture three days later. As it turns out, we'd worked at the same
campus paper (a few years apart) and he'd been at
the election speeches where I'd run for the paper's
online position that spring.
I wish there was a more dramatic
story behind how we moved from mere acquaintances to a couple, but the
truth is that things just fell into place. We started going for coffee after class, and I regularly missed my second class on
Fridays because we would sit at Tim Hortons for hours on end talking
about nothing in particular.
By "nothing in particular" I mean things as mundane as sweaters.
And yet I never got bored.
It
was the end of October when I finally summoned the strength to ask him
out on a real date. I had asked some friends for advice, having never
done this before, and got some interesting answers (including the
suggestion that I eat crackers beforehand because they would prevent
my mouth from drying up... strange...). And I, the INFJ, was
terrified. This was not in my nature. How was I to go about doing this
without making an idiot out of myself? What if he said no?
But
for the first time in my life after years of pining after various boys and
never doing anything about it, I was motivated more by the fact that I
had to do it. The course would be over within a month, and if I didn't
do something I might never have seen him again.
So I
asked him out one Friday after class, while standing outside the
building. I was
terrified, but I knew I had to do it, so I summoned all the strength
in my five feet and five inches and released it in one spaceless string
of words: "Doyouwanttogooutsometime?" Just having said it
made me feel better, and it didn't even matter that he didn't hear me
and asked me to repeat myself. So I asked him again and he blushed a
little, and said "Sure. What did you have in mind?"
Unfortunately,
I had been too preoccupied with the actual act of asking him out to
think about what the hypothetical date would actually entail. (Word to
the wise: before asking someone out, have some ideas ready. Otherwise
you will be left standing in front of said person looking like an
idiot.) He suggested breakfast after our early morning class the next
week, and so we had omlets on our first date. He insisted on paying,
even though I'd asked him out. I tried to argue with him
but he said he'd wanted to ask me out but had been nervous. When I
persisted, he told me I could pay for our second date.
It was
after the second date that he kissed me for the first
time, after we'd walked back to campus from the restaurant through a
light rain.
A week after that, while wandering around downtown
on the weekend, he called me his girlfriend. I have already written extensively about how he was
my rock during one of the most stressful and intense periods of my
life. I told him I loved him that April; I met his family in August. We
marked our first anniversary -- the first anniversary of our first date
-- at a Thai restaurant downtown. We hadn't made reservations anywhere,
so we wandered the city looking for somewhere with a table. It was sweet.
He
was at my convocation and came out for dinner with my family
afterwards. My family adores him. He came to a party we had for my
grandfather's 80th birthday and hit it off with everyone. He played
pool with my little cousins and talked about Montreal with my aunts
and uncles. They tell me I am lucky. I believe them. We just celebrated
our second anniversary.
I am only 22 and yet I am the luckiest woman alive. Happy birthday, love.
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