Short version:
Nineteen years of marriage today!
Really, really long version:
You meet her at The University of Chicago. She is the girl who never accepts your repeated invitations to blow off her studies and drink at The Pub. Until the one time she does (when you arrange to invite her by proxy, through one of your friends to one of her friends). You are in a small group and you make her laugh. And at the end of the night, she says “Hamilton, I wanna kick your ass!” You think she’s kidding, so you goad her. Then she delivers a hard, drunken punch to your jaw. And you’re bewildered, because who the Hell flirts like that?!
But that’s all that happens. Then exams follow, and she goes home for the summer. And you don’t see her again until she returns for volleyball camp a few months later. She comes over with a teammate and greets you enthusiastically, with the strong, “kung fu grip” handshake of a longshoreman or a gregarious yeti. And you learn that the whole volleyball team is bored and in need of entertainment. And half as a joke, you offer to take them all country dancing at a ridiculous bar called Whiskey River. To your surprise, they come. And you’re outnumbered, and not much of a dancer. But you are a Texan by God, and when eleven girls want to two-step with you, you rise to the occasion!
A few of your friends show up, because girls. And as you flirt with her, you learn that she kinda, sorta has a boyfriend. Oh no! She doesn’t take whatever they have all that seriously though. You know him – he’s the rich, handsome president of a rival fraternity. But he’s boring, and he doesn’t make her laugh. You do.
The night progresses. You dance with her, and then some of her teammates (because you want to make sure nobody feels left out). But she cuts in. And you’re no ladies man, but even you begin to understand that you might have a chance with this girl.
Then it’s the end of the night, and there are too many people piled into your roommate’s car, so she sits in your lap. (Yes!) And she laughs the whole drive home. And you’re so pleased at how well it’s going. But then your idiot buddy drives not to your shared apartment, but to her dorm. And then it’s awkward, because all the other girls are getting out here. So she does too. There is an electric moment as she says goodbye when she almost kisses you. But then, as if shaking off some haze, she thinks better of it and walks away with her teammates. And now you’re hooked. And you *have* to see her again.
And you do the next night, which starts at the Brew & View, and lasts into the wee hours. You have an amazing time together. But the following day you learn that her kinda/sorta boyfriend is coming back to town. And she’s trying to figure out what she’s gonna do about him. And the timing is terrible, especially because you have to leave on your long-planned road trip with a friend who is essentially the sister you never had (only worse). And when you planned this adventure, you didn’t know you’d hookup with this girl. Or that her semi-boyfriend would be returning to school just as you leave town. And it may go without saying, but it’s exceedingly hard to steal someone’s girl when you are off galavanting across the country with another girl.
You don’t really want to go anymore, but you promised. Besides, no commitments have been made. Indeed, quite the opposite: this girl has a boyfriend (kinda). So you go.
Cellphones don’t exist yet. And email isn’t a thing. And you don’t know what’s going on with her, or whether she’s going to break up with him, or even if she has any real interest in ever speaking to you again. So you try to make the best of it.
You see Yellowstone and The Badlands. You go boating, and hiking, and horseback riding. You pose for pictures beneath the udder of a giant cow statute. You climb onto and pretend to ride a chain link horse. You turn twenty-one and get pulled over twice by the same cop on the same day – once on the way to buy your first legal case of beer, and again on the way back. And your Texas driver’s license is stamped “Under 21” even though it doesn’t expire until a full year after you turn twenty-one. And you have to explain to the cashier, and the cashier’s manager, and the cop (during the second stop) that if you compare today’s date with your birthdate they will see that you are now twenty-one, regardless of what the stamp on your license says. And up yours Texas.
About a week into your trip, she tracks you down at the friend’s house where you’re staying, and she leaves a message for you to call her. You call, but play several rounds of phone tag because it’s 1993, and people actually have to put up with that kind of shit because texting isn’t a thing. And when you finally do connect, you learn that she officially ended whatever she had with the other guy, and she wants to see you again. Will you get back before her team leaves for a trip to several different cities?
Yes, yes of course! And you want to head home right now now now! But your quasi-sister has different plans, and she wants to stay, and ride horses, and do whatever else folks do in Montana for several more days. What?!? Doesn’t she realize that she’s standing between you and awesomeness?
You can’t convince her to leave. And it’s her car. So you pout, and moan, and act like a total dick, and sit on a rocking chair alone on the front porch drinking beer and chain-smoking cigarettes (and you don’t even smoke). And finally she can’t stand you anymore, and neither can the mom who is hosting you, so you drive home without speaking to each other. And you had both originally planned to see Mt Rushmore on the way home, but she drives past it to spite you.
You don’t make it back in time to see the girl that has you feverish. So you wait forlornly. And she eventually returns on September 27th. And you’re together from that day on. And you’re joyful, and dizzy, and insufferable, and childish, and consumed with each other in ways that should embarrass you but don’t. And on October 10th – a scant two weeks into your relationship – she says she wants to have your children. And it takes your breath away. And you ask her if she wants to get married. And she says yes. And you both know that this is crazy, but also right. Because you’ve never known anything more than you know this.
Your parents (both sets) are exasperated. Your friends think you’re a fool. And almost everyone says you’re too young, or that you don’t know what you’re doing, or blah blah stupid-facey blah. But they are the fools. Because you are the author of this life, and you know what the main character in your story wants. And it’s this girl, forever.
You want to marry right then. But you wait until you both graduate, because getting married and then going back to the dorms or whatever is just gross. So three years later, on August 31, 1996, you stand before your friends and family and make your vows.
Nineteen years pass. And in that time together you experience law school, medical school, a first house, a law firm job, a first baby, a medical residency, a corporate law job, a second baby, a medical fellowship, a second house, a third baby, a doctor job, a third house in a new city, a fourth baby, and the cutting and burning of your balls to prevent a fifth baby. Holy shit! Did the two of you do all that?
And as you reflect, you can say with absolute conviction that you wouldn’t give back any of the days you’ve spent with her. Not a single one. Because like some miser counting his coins – well, a sexy miser with a good beard and amazing calves – you are possessed with a greed for more. As in ALL of the more that can be. Assuming, of course, that she’s still willing to put up with you. Because even though you’re adorable, her continued tolerance of your antics is far from a given. After all, she’s the total package and you’re just a dude who makes jokes sometimes. (Well, there’s the whole being-the-father-of-her-kids thing, but still!) You’re an insanely lucky bastard, and nobody knows it more than you do.
* * *
Happy 19th Anniversary to Erin, the true love of my life.