Lucky ThirteenPosted: January 1, 2013 | |
Today, Herr Husband and I celebrate out thirteenth dating anniversary. Many couples let go their dating anniversaries as they marry, but given that our relationship dawned with the millennium, and in such a concrete fashion, it’s an occasion I always like to mark.
Thirteen years ago today, Herr Husband and I were in New Orleans with several close friends from college. He had graduated from our idyllic alma mater the previous June, and I was a senior. We had been friends, then flirty friends, then friends with benefits (albeit a skimpy kissing-only benefits plan), then a failed couple, and then back to friends, once again of the flirty/skimpy benefits variety. Our other friends, frankly, were sick of it. Sick of the will they/won’t they, sick of the pining, and our traveling to DC and Hanover under the pretenses of seeing “the whole group.”
So in late afternoon on New Year’s Eve, they locked us in the bathroom of the Holiday Inn room we were sharing with an actual couple and told us to figure it out. I sat (fully clothed) in the bathtub, and Herr Husband sat (also clothed) on the bathroom floor. The air hung thick with my cigarette smoke, and the ashes hissed as I flicked them into the toilet. Disgusting. (Obviously smoking is a horrid habit that I’ve since abandoned. Don’t smoke!). After expressing our mutual affection and attraction, we both talked about how afraid we were to risk the friendship. [HERE IS MY DATING ADVICE: ALWAYS RISK THE FRIENDSHIP. YOU HAVE LOTS OF FRIENDS. FINDING A LOVE INTEREST AND PARTNER IS WAY, WAY MORE CHALLENGING]. So we decided not to date.
I was a little pissed, but tried to hide it. Instead, I got ready for the night ahead of us, managing to go from snarly haired smoker to New Year’s princess. I wore a burgundy ball skirt and a shirt–which I still have–known as feather boob tube top, which sounds unsightly but is actually an adorable black tube top with a thin layer of marabou feathers at the top. This outfit was considered very attractive in 1999; I swear. I put on pretty girl makeup and did up my hair. When my friend Dr. D., staying down the hall, opened the door and saw me all gussied up, she actually said, “I hate you” and slammed the door in my face. That’s how good I looked. Also, that’s how awesome Dr. D. is.
Obviously, Herr Husband was quick to realize his mistake. A few hours later and after a few glasses of champagne, he pulled me aside as we walked down the street. “I was wrong,” he told me, “I do want to be with you.”
“Good,” I replied. “Now I can stop being mad at you.” And then we exercised our new found benefits, annoying our friends anew by making out all over the streets of New Orleans.
The next day, in the clear, gray light of our hangovers, we affirmed that we’d meant it and were indeed a couple. And we’ve been one ever since.
Who woulda thunk that these two kids who needed to get drunk and dressed up to figure their lives out would have gone on to have such a fun, happy, loving, and supportive relationship? Could we have known as I ashed into the toilet how simple our lives were, and how unpredictable our life would become? We never imagined how fulfilling it would be, how moves, and marriage, and most importantly parenthood would bring us closer and make us happier than ever before.
So happy dating anniversary to my dear Herr Husband! And Happy New Year to all of you! May you be as lucky as we have been.