The reception hall wasn’t exactly over flowing with eligible bachelors. I was there by myself, dateless despite a year of serial dating, and even though I felt rather smart in my $12 Jomar dress, I quickly surmised that this was going to be a very boring wedding.
Fortunately, I was wrong.
I noticed you for the first time on our way out of the church earlier that afternoon. My parents—ever on the lookout—informed me that there was a “cute guy” seated a few rows behind us and by the time the DJ called “Lady’s Choice” a few hours later I had it on good authority that you were single.
I can still remember our first dance. I don’t know what song was playing, or what kind of dance it was, but I remember we talked the whole time and I found myself thinking, “My God, that’s how this sort of thing is supposed to work!”
It felt effortless: we fit perfectly together (despite my four-inch heels) and thanks to all those months I’d spent conducting “fieldwork” I’d finally mastered the art of flirting and dancing at the same time.
Of course, you left without saying goodbye and I spent the next few weeks in “research” mode…
All I can say is THANK GOD for Facebook.
And for fluke encounters at other people’s weddings.
And for Colombian hot chocolate.
And for the fact that I didn’t actually kill you when we fell on the deck after breaking my parents’ chair earlier this month. (Or drown you when we capsized our kayak over Memorial Day…)
It’s been one heck of a year. We’ve had our ups and downs and I’ve been forced to admit that dating someone isn’t quite as easy as simply dancing with someone but at the end of the day, and the beginning of the day, and just about every minute in between you’re the one I want.
Happy quasi-one-year-anniversary, Babe. Xoxo