The story of how it all began

The summer of '98, I was dating a loser. I dated a lot of losers. Turns out, I wasn't the only person this loser was seeing but that's neither here nor there. The day I met my husband, I was going up to the losers shop to hang out for the day. (his mother owned a car repair shop that he did all the work at... a guy who had only worked on his own and his friends cars was calling himself a mechanic) I walked in and immediately noticed that the chair to the desk in the office was facing away from the front door. Like out of a cheesy romance movie, the chair slowly turned to face me and it was like the air was sucked out of the room. The guy sitting in that chair would be my future husband and father of my children. At some point during that day, we (me and my childhood friend) left with Shawn (my husband) to go to get auto parts. We were getting bored sitting around doing nothing in the smelly shop so when he left, we went with him. As he was getting out of the car to run in and get the parts, he jotted down his phone number and handed it to me. As young girls tend to do, we got high pitched and giggly the second he was out of hearing range. The loser I was dating was not someone I planned on spending any more than a summer with and I think the feeling was mutual. We were talking everyday and then eventually I went over to his house and from that point on, I didn't talk to the loser anymore. I never broke up with him, I just stopped calling him and he never bothered calling me. Shawn I dated for about a month before he abruptly called it off. I, to this day, have no idea why. I don't know if he honestly doesn't remember or if it was some teenage boy thing that he's now embarrassed to admit. I didn't talk to him for a year. Not a single hi and I avoided him to make sure it never happened. I wasn't heartbroken, just pissed. The next summer, a year to the day that we had gotten together the previous summer, I had a friend over. My mom was cooking dinner so me and my friend (who to this day I am still very good friends with) decided to go for a short walk. We were getting ready to turn around and head back for my house when a truck I recognized was coming down the road. I knew it belonged to a guy I'd known since we were in grade school. And I was relieved that to know the truck as we were on a road that there are were few houses and even fewer vehicles that came down it. The truck slowed down when it got to us and there was a group of boys in the bed of the truck and the cab was full as well. I had no idea that Shawn was the driver. They all got out and there was some chit chat before we realized we had to get back in order to eat our dinner while it was still warm. They gave us a ride back to the house in the bed of the truck (which was filled with bean bags). The idea of riding in the back of a truck always made me nervous. My mom says I'm really an old woman on the inside as things that normal young people would enjoy tend to be things I avoid. (turn down that radio, you're going to go deaf!) My husband noticed my hesitation and drove very slowly to my house, much to the disappointment of the other boys. Later that evening, my friend and I decided to take another, longer walk. We were almost back home when I saw a car pull into my driveway so we jogged the rest of the way back. Suddenly, my house was grand central station. There was a car I recognized as a guy friend of mine (who I later realized was anything but a friend but that's a story for another day) and another car that I'd never seen before. The driver was Shawn. He had decided to just show up at my house and see if we wanted to hang out. We went out to my garage and played pool the rest of the night with a couple of other friends. Eventually, the night had to come to an end and Shawn had to leave. I announced I would "walk him to his car" thinking the others would get the hint to sit and stay. I wasn't that lucky and everyone followed us out, which resulted in a very awkward moment at the driver's side of my husband's car. Numbers were once again exchanged and a promise to get together again soon. It turned out to be very soon. We spent the rest of the summer together... constantly. In fact, over the next two years, we never spent a full day apart from each other. It was in those first few months that his mother made a decision that she probably still regrets... she made him choose between the two of us. It was either he stop seeing me or he moves out of the house. He packed his bags and was out the same night. I was sad that he was forced to make that decision but obviously, glad that he had chosen me. Within six months we were living together, although not yet allowed to share the same room as we were under my mom's roof. We bent that rule as far as we could before she said to hell with it. He slept in the largest room upstairs and it was open to the rest of the house so anyone could walk in. I would sleep in there on the floor next to his bed and he would lay his hand over the side and we would fall asleep holding hands. Ah, to be young and in love. :) This summer will be ten years that we have been together, four that we've been married. And I'd do it all again.