How I Met My Husband

A few weeks ago, I asked my readers if they had any questions for me.  Easy post material you know.

Someone asked how my husband and I met.

Long story.

Ready?

My very very very first memory of Andy was in Sophomore year Biology Class.

Yup, we were like 15.  Sheesh.

We were dissecting earthworms.

Romantic.

I asked to borrow his scalpel real quick (my smoking hot quarterback of the football team lab partner had dropped ours and was getting a new one).

“No.  Get your own.”

Wow, what a gentleman. (not really the words I thought, but we’re keeping it clean around here! ha!)

Junior year Spanish Class:

We regularly had to get into groups to do translations of huge stories.

Andy quickly figured out that this girl (that would be me) was fluent in Portuguese…and could translate the Spanish stories as quickly as he could scribble down what she said.  So he sat next to me to ensure being in my “work” group.

Was this cheating?  Yeah, pretty sure of it.

Then again, the teacher wanted us in groups.  So, it’s kinda their fault right?

In exchange, I convinced him to pick me up on the way to school and give me a ride in.  Because even then, I wasn’t a fan of any form of physical exertion.  Besides, walking to school was lame.

My BFF was the editor of the school newspaper.  Which basically meant that I was guaranteed a spot in the little question/answer section they did every month.

I was always looking for a laugh (and was eventually named Class Clown), so when the month’s question was: “If you could have anything in the world for Christmas, what would it be?”

I responded: “Andy Gibson and a chicken.”

Now, here’s the thing:  To. this. day.  Andy will swear to you that I “wanted” him.  Um, sure.  Really, honestly, I thought he was nice and all, and I did have a teeny crush on him…but at the end of the day, I *knew* that that answer was hysterical and *had* to make it into the El Toro.

Had. to.

And so it did.  And it was funny.

To everyone, I would imagine, besides Andy.

(The chicken, by the way, was for random’s sake.  Made it funnier, no?)

So, he was pretty mad at me.  But, he kept giving me rides to school so he couldn’t be too mad, right?

In the meantime, he got a girlfriend, I started dating older boys, and the tension of the Chicken Incident faded.

And we became Friends.

As in, no pressure, no Spanish cheating, Friends.

My dad at one point asked me “why don’t you ever date nice boys like that kid that picks you up from school?“

I distinctly remember scrunching my nose and fake gagging.

Andy was nice.  Cute.  But by now, my current boyfriend was 2 years older, had tattoos, piercings, was in a band, and had a penchant for drinking whiskey…for breakfast.

Andy’s blonde, blue eyed, Colgate smile, 4.195 GPA, All-Americana vibe was *not* instrumental to my reputation.

Which, in case you forgot, is CRAZY important when you are 17.

At some point, we decided we wanted to hook up our respective best friends and get them to go to Prom together.  To this day I have no idea why.

So we would cook up these ridiculous plans where Andy would tell Jered: “Jeannett called.  She and Lizzie are going to the movies and want us to come.”

And I would tell Lizzie: “Andy called.  He and Jered are going to the movies and want us to come.”

And then once we got to the movies we would concoct these stupid excuses to “go get soda” or whatever in a ridiculously obvious attempt to give Jered and Lizzie some alone time.

{{can I pause the story for a moment here to acknowledge how COMPLETELY LAME this story is??? I. am. embarrassed.  Truly.}}

So anyway, as you might guess by now, while we were off giving our friends time alone…WE were also spending time alone.

(Side note: I actually have a picture of us together at Senior Prom.  We didn’t go together, but there is an old photo that has been floating around the house for years…and of course, now that I scour the place for an hour, I can’t find it anywhere!)

At some point, two days before graduation, Andy asked me to “go around”.

Things were much more formal back then.  I don’t think there’s an official “asking” with kids these days.  (kids these days?!  ha!  i’m OLD!)

I said yes and went home to my bestie…MORTIFIED.

What had I just done????  This was crazy.  He was so….straight edge.  Ugh.

And, I am being totally honest when I say that I told Lizzie…”Well, if nothing else, I’ll get a few free dinners and movies out of the deal.  There’s no way this will last more than 2 weeks.  We are way too different.”

Andy says he didn’t even *like* me all that much, he just figured that he wanted someone to hang out with the summer before he left for college and I seemed like a fun option.

Lovely story to tell the kids, no?

::sigh::

This is me & Lizzie.  I figured that in all fairness, if I was going to post a picture of Andy in high school, I should probably post one  of myself too.  So here we are, in all our matcing denim overall glory.

The next day was graduation rehearsal for the Seniors and I purposely avoided him.  It was all just too weird.  I was gonna break it off.  Soon.

That night was Grad Night at Disneyland (yeah, So Cal high school kids go to the Mouse House for Grad Night because we are cool like that).

I thought I was going to DIE when he grabbed my hand.  Because when you are “going around” you hold hands everywhere you go.  And I really didn’t want anyone to see that happening.

BUT…and here’s the craziest thing of all:

It all felt so natural.

We pretty much ditched our friends, and hung out all night, talking, laughing, holding hands.

Andy was the most affectionate, sweet guy I had met when he wasn’t around his friends.

I didn’t have to go out of my way to be funny.

We got along.

Really well.

I still marvel at how I seriously considered breaking up with him before DLand, and didn’t…

So that was pretty long…there’s a little more to the story.

To Be Continued…

(Andy don’t hate me for all of this!  Love you!  Smile!)

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jeannett

I'm a mom to four. A wife to one. I believe in story. I love telling you about mine and would love to hear yours. There's really no sense in wasting our suffering and not sharing in each other's joy. We're all in this together...even if it doesn't always feel like it.

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