Ten years and three days ago I got extraordinarily drunk with my housemate Jules and allowed myself to get talked into putting up a personal profile on the Internet. Having been in a fairly interesting relationship until only a month or two prior, I was by no means in a well-adjusted ready-to-date place. Fortunately I had alcohol to straighten that kind of thinking out. Alcohol and pot. Anyway, since that previous relationship had been flavoured with a whole rainbow of dysfunction, my head space had angled itself towards "I'm sick of the bullshit, I just want to have a good time and, by the way, you'd better like me for who I am because there's not a chance I'll be changing for you". I was more sure of what I didn't want than what I did want and my good friends alcohol and pot were there to make sure things went my way.
Something about my own special brand of honesty spoke to the hearts of many, many men because when I woke up the next morning I had emails from 29 of them referring to my awesome profile. A mad scramble revealed my profile in all its glory. In less than 24 hours I had become the most popular profile on the whole site. To my lasting shame the cold light of day revealed that I'd gone for drunken honesty gold. Sample sentences include this; "If you don't like dogs, please don't write to me. I have a dog. She was here first." I quickly took my profile down and then started sheepishly writing to my admirers.
Out of those 29 men the majority of responses I sent were something along the lines of, "I'm sure you're lovely and I apologise for wasting your time and the $6 you paid for my email address, but this was a very drunken mistake." In my defence, the majority of them had sent me emails that went something like this, "you sound like da bom, lets get together and Xplod" or "i wish there were more chicks like you and not so many bitches want to meet for a coffee?" I admit I'd been off the dating scene since...well...since I was about fourteen, but to me, writing to propose a date with someone who may become your partner should involve the use of grammar and punctuation. I know. I'm a snob like that. Try to remember I'd spent a long time with the wrong people trying to make it right. I was done. Grammar and punctuation were part of my new minimum.
Anyways out of the 29 one letter stood out. Just over a page long this guy knew how to sell himself. He told me about himself, his family, his job and his life philosophy. And every time he got a little too over the top he'd poke fun at himself. I wrote to him, he wrote to me and it wasn't long before I was telling him things I hadn't told anybody. I consoled myself with the fact that it was all anonymous. In the background my Dad countered all of my praise of this man with negativity. Samples:
Me: He sounds really mature.
Dad: That's because he's older than me and writing to vulnerable young women to get his jollies. You better not send him any naked photos. Have you sent him naked photos?
Me: He's really sensitive and in touch with his feelings.
Dad: That's because he's a guy preparing himself for transgender realignment and he needs to get in touch with how women really think. You didn't send him any naked photos did you?
Me: I really like him and he says he really likes me.
Dad: That's how serial killers attract prey. DID YOU SEND HIM NAKED PHOTOS?
By the second day it felt like I'd known him months and I sent him my phone number. He called almost immediately and we talked for hours. The day after that he asked me out on a date and I accepted. With two hours until date time I made an emergency appointment with my beautician and had enough hair removed to recreate my own small marsupial. Then I endured my father and brother "helping" me choose an outfit* and learned that apparently there are rules about first dates that I'd never had to be told because I'd never really been single. Samples;
If he gets drunk, you don't see him again.
If he doesn't pay for dinner, you don't see him again.
If he tries to kiss you, you don't see him again.
If he wants to come home with you, you don't see him again.
Oh by the way if you sleep with him on the first date he'll think you're a slut and you won't see him again.
Eventually they were evicted because they were making me too nervous and I drove to the restaurant early so I wouldn't have to deal with them if they came back. I wandered around for a bit around the restaurant and watched as a series of ridiculously overweight men with beards and bellies hanging out the bottom of unwashed T-shirts went into the place I was meant to be meeting him**. Eventually I went in, sat down, and waited.
Finally a tall, dark man in dark clothes with the most enormous beard I'd seen in quite some time came in and was directed to my table. "Closely-cropped" my well-waxed derriere. I remember that he had the kindest, warmest eyes I'd ever seen and his smile was gentle. I'd already decided before I got to the restaurant that if he was half as good as he seemed to be, I was going to nail him to the wall so he couldn't get away. Turns out he was twice as good as he'd said he was and he didn't break any of the unspoken "first-date" rules. He was a keeper.
A fortnight later when he brought me a picnic lunch while I worked on building my pergola I asked him to marry me. A few months later he got down on his knee with a ring and made it official. I found out later that he'd asked my Dad and my brother for my hand in marriage - because he knew by then that Jase's approval was just as important as my Dad's and I would not marry a man they didn't like. They both gave their blessing willingly.
I look back now and I still remember what it felt like to become so intimate so quickly. Charles and I never did slow down - we went quickly from engaged to married to children. It was intoxicating, giddy and the whole time I kept waiting for the bad to come.
Any moment now you'll turn into a psycho. I didn't believe it could be so
easy. But that's what it's like when you find the person you're meant to be with. You fall into step beside them and discover all the things that make you right for each other long after you've actually made the commitment to be together.
It's ten years to the day since that first night when we met in a restaurant. If you asked me what I've been doing consistently for ten years my first response would not be "loving Charles" it would be something like "um...breathing." It doesn't feel like ten years. It feels like the blink of an eye. *blink* Enormous white dress. *blink* Birthing Charlotte and watching Charles make her breathe. *blink* First house. *blink* Now James. *blink* Second house. *blink* Ten years gone. Are you sure we haven't been together forever because I forget what it was like to ever live without you.
*Wear a skirt. But not a
short skirt. We want him to remember you're a woman but we don't want him to think he can have sex with you. Yet. Ever. Whatever.
** He'd said he was a bit overweight with a closely cropped beard.
