Mark and I have been married 20 years today.
An important occasion. A momentous accomplishment. An event which, inevitably, turns a girl’s thoughts to old boyfriends and roads not taken.
Did you not see that coming?
I had my first serious boyfriend when I was 17. By “serious,” I mean that we were dating. And by “first,” I mean first. As in NO ONE ASKED ME OUT BEFORE THE AGE OF 17. I do not know what the fuck that was about, as I was trying desperately from the age of 15 on to send out “slut vibes” to the boys I knew.
My high school “slut vibes” were of the subtle, imagined, turtlenecked, arms-across-chest, pathetic, desperate, “please notice me” sort. Not that effective. I imagined I was walking the halls in a cloud of sexiness that would draw boys to me, but in reality I just walked the halls. So sad.
Plus, one part of me had developed early.
And that would be the caustic, rejecting, sarcastic, evil part of me.
Did you not see that coming?
I only knew how to deal with boys from a place of humorous hatred and bitterness. My flirting was scary. What I meant to be little love darts of wit came across with bazooka-like killing power.
Come back!
Anyway . . . first boyfriend at 17. I was in college, living away from home for the first time, and eager for my “real life” to begin. Let’s call him George. George was not a keeper, but because I had never “caught” anyone before, I did not understand the “release” part of the sport of dating. We had been out on four dates and we had kissed. I felt pretty lucky to have found “The One” so quickly, and assumed that he felt the same way.
Pathetic, I know.
So around about week five, George let me know he was heading home for the weekend to visit his family. I assumed I would be going with him to meet the future in-laws, and my feelings got hurt when he expressed incredulity at this suggestion. Was it possible that he did not see our future together as clearly as I did?
No, he assured me, he felt the same way. He loved me. He wanted to be with me. Forever. It just wasn’t the perfect time to introduce me to his parents.
Did I mention we hadn’t had sex, only meaningful kissing? I decided in that moment to interpret his inability to move us past kissing as the desire on his part to save us for the wedding night.
George went on. He wanted everything to be perfect. Plus, he promised me, he was going to bring back a gift for me. Something he had to go home to get. Something he couldn’t wait to give me.
My heart stopped. Oh my god. He was going to propose! He was going to propose and he had to go home to get the ring from his mom. Probably a family heirloom. Probably sparkly and diamondy. Oh my god.
So we did some more meaningful kissing, and George headed off.
In his absence, I had some time to myself. Time to bring a little bit of sensible clarity to the table.
Let’s see . . . long engagement or short? If we got married before the end of the year, we could put in for married-student housing for our sophomore year of college. We would decorate the apartment together with little colorful throw pillows, and we’d host fabulous “married-people” parties, and we’d have matching end tables on which we would place framed wedding photos. From our wedding.
We would hold hands on our way to class every morning, and I would help him study and he would . . . well . . . study harder. George was going to have to buckle down if we were going to be a family. We would eat our meals in the cafeteria together, placing our trays on opposite sides of one of the enormously long tables. I would always be the one to walk around the table and let him sit down first, because marriage is all about sacrifices.
I was going to make this work.
And on weekends, we would sleep in, and we would be naked (!!!!!!!), and then I would lovingly craft breakfast in our married-student-housing adorable tiny kitchen. I was going to need a whisk.
I fashioned a ring of tinfoil and posed in the mirror to see how the engaged me was going to look. Oh my god. So fabulous. Me, but way better.
Finally, finally, finally, Sunday night came. The return of my husband-to-be. I took off the tinfoil ring and waited for George to appear on bended knee.
At 9:00 pm, the phone rang, and I answered it with quick-bitten fingers. Listened as he explained that he was really really tired, and so could we reschedule our reunion for the next night?
He had said that he wanted everything to be perfect. OK — Monday would be perfect.
The next 24 hours took forever.
And then George was there. In my dorm room. Us. Together. Sitting on my bed.
It was perfect.
And then George took out a little box and held it out to me. Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god. He was saying something weird about Disneyland, but my ears were ringing and I stared at him as his lips moved, waiting for him to stop talking so that I could say, “Yes, I will marry you!”
Wait . . . what was that about Disneyland?
George held the little box just out of my reach, and he kept talking. Why was he still talking? Why was he talking about the gift shop at Disneyland?
Wait . . . we’re getting married at Disneyland? You bought the ring at Disneyland?
Dude, that’s fucked up.
George held the little box (my ring!) and he just kept FUCKING TALKING. And when I listened, the words sounded like this:
“I wanted to get you something special. We live near Disneyland, and we go there every time I go home, and they have the best shops! I knew I would find the perfect thing. And I did! Look!”
And he opened the box. And I saw our future slip away.
Because this is what I saw:
Of course I still have them!
Did you see that coming? Because I so did not.
Mark is going to laugh his ASS off when he reads this.
Happy anniversary, babe.
You know, young girls in love are idiots. I can’t count the number of times I had our life planned before the first week of dating, which is better than a first date Colby had where the girl informed him she wanted to have her eggs frozen..first date.
Women are idiots.
I’m glad you met Mark…and I hope he doesn’t hate me for calling him a turd. I meant it in a loving way.
Mark was fine with the “turd” remark. He was much more incredulous that I still had the tiny glass cats. I believe his exact words (through tears and gasping laughter) were, “Everybody is going to think you are insane.”
He always gives the best compliments.
If loving this story is wrong, then I don’t want to be right.
And I love that you still have them!
Thank you! The cats have a place of honor in my jewelry box, a little reminder of a younger and much stupider me.
Happy Anniversary you two!!!
Aren’t you still on vacation?
LMFAO. I grew up near Disneyland and I’m rather certain I’ve seen those tiny ceramic cats there.
Fucking beautiful. Congrats to you and your man – we’re 10 years into this fun called marriage ourselves. And I’m glad to know it won’t suck the awewsomeness out of me in another 10. <3
No awesomeness suckage here. How happy am I that the whole “man with the teeny glass cat offering” thing didn’t work out? The guy snorting with laughter over my shoulder as I type this has proven to be a much better choice.
Hahahahahaha. Funny post! Girls are dumb when it comes to boys. I had a “George” too.
Happy Anniversary to you and your husband.
I think everyone has a George. Mark says he’s pretty sure my George was gay. Which would explain a lot. Teeny glass cats, Disneyland obsession, no sex . . . hmmmmm.
No, I think George was telling you your future… that was Mark and the girls. :P Happy Anniversary to you both!
Is this your first actual comment on the blog itself? We talk all the time and email, but I think this might be new!
Welcome!
Your comment reminds me of one of Kallan’s favorite jokes. She reads your palm and tells you all about your love life and plans for future travel in a deep serious voice. And then suddenly, she stops and gazes intently into your palm and runs her finger along the longest line she can find, “This line here indicates some trouble. It appears that you are going to be injured in the very near . . .”
And then she slugs you as hard as she can and screams with laughter.
Love you, Jyl!
Geeesssshhhh Kris, so much for trying to be anonymous with you around! I think that I have commented once, or twice, before… but obviously it wasn’t so obvious as to who I was those times!! Thanks for reminding me to never have Kallan read me my future! And as for that love stuff… back at ya!
Oh my gosh . . . that was you being sneaky and anonymous? You had better not ever have an affair.
How much longer did things last with George after that?
What longer? Glass kitten night was the last time I saw him. If that counts as a date, it was 5 dates total.
Kris,
Young love is both wonderful and painful. Tis true.
But, that said; I’m so thrilled that your fairytail wedding dreams ended “happily ever after”…
Congratulations, Cinderella on finding your Prince Charming. Happy Anniversary to the both of you!
A snortful of love & laughter,
Brenda
FAIRYTAIL . . . snort, snort.
It’s a very loving snort, snort!! Loving, joyous laughter SNORT!! SNORT!! SNORT!!
Love & hugs,
Insane Crystal Ball Gazing Brenda
Good lord, you win the award on this one! 20 years! I am crawling to my 8th Anniversary in September, even after marrying late in life. :)
How charming you received kittens, me? My first love gift, skunk. Yup, a stuffed animal skunk. Is that a sign or what?
God bless your 20 years, gives the rest of us hope that we arrive there with just as much humor and enjoyment with our own partners in crime.
~K
“Good lord?” Ummmm . . . anniversaries that call for “good lord” are generally the ones right before the married couple gets to actually meet the “good lord.” Twenty years will be here before you know it, young lady. And I will be there to say, “I can’t believe you let the skunk guy get away! What were you thinking?”
Love you.
That is the funniest thing i’ve read in a long time. The fact that you kept those things is the best part.
So.. my made-up name for my first boyfriend who I started dating at 17: George. Not even kidding.
REALLY?
That’s awesome!
bahahahahaha!!!! i love that you still have them!
i was also a disillusioned young college kid…..finally decided i had found “the one” i wanted to marry on a trip to south carolina with my best friend. he worked on a golf course, had no education, and was short with a small penis. thank GOD i snapped out of that one, broke up with him while on a visit down there, and hooked up with his roommate before flying home, and never ever mentioning him again (except for now).
and the good thing about my hubs is that we were friends then, so he knew all about this craziness (well, except for the part about the loser having a small dick), and still chose to be with me! :) heheh!
I absolutely love how the ceramic cats ended things! I’ve been in this relationship before except my George had female parts!
Your George?
Was oddly fashioned, then.
Hee hee!