Today marks the day that I've served 11 years of my life sentence.
In other words: I met Steve 11 years ago today.
Depending on what mood I'm in or who I'm talking to, I tell people either that we were introduced by a friend - or we met in a bar.
Both are actually true.
This "new guy" had started working for the same company as my best friend, Holly. I lived in the city an hour away and every time I talked to her she would tell me about this Steve guy whom she thought I would like. She tried to set up group cocktails a few times - which I drove the hour to attend - and he was a no show. I gave up on meeting him after a few attempts to which he obviously had something better to do (like drink beer while watching sports in his basement suite).
Then one night I came into town with a girlfriend and we proceeded to drink quite a bit. Suddenly Holly came up to me and said "That guy is here. Do you want to meet him?" (or something along those lines, like I said - I'd drank a bit). Game, I said, "sure".
A guy after my own heart, the minute after we were introduced he bought me a beer. I chatted with him for a bit (blurry). And at the end of the night we slow danced to Def Leopard (I think it is was "Love Bites" - how cheesy!). At the end of the song he kissed me on the forehead and promptly left.
Oh well, at that point I wasn't about to fret or chase so I just figured that was the end of it.
I finished my last drink and stepped outside for some fresh air. I sat down on the sidewalk outside the bar and this little white Volkswagen Golf pulled up. Steve rolled down the window about 3 inches and said to me "Get in".
My sober friend, Steve's friend and Steve and I drove back into the city and went to Denny's for breakfast - where Steve was pretty much "falling asleep" (NOT passing out).
Steve and his friend stayed the night at my place (it was all very innocent, I swear!). The next morning we drove the hour back to town so I could get my vehicle and Steve could go to work.
Figured I'd never hear from him again. But... I did. He called. We watched a movie the next night. The following night was Valentines Day and he came back into the city to visit me.
We've been together almost every day since.
Last night I was standing at the stove, cooking dinner and he said, "Valentines Day is on Monday. What do you want to do about that?" I said, "And tomorrow is our 11 year anniversary too!"
And he forgot for a minute that I can see his reflection in the microwave as he made a face and rolled his eyes.
The most I was hoping for was perhaps combining the two dates and maybe having a steak and a couple of beers together one night after the kids go to bed. I already bought the steak. I guess I should pick up the beer too.
I suppose I shouldn't expect so much. After all, our first dinner date was at 3am in a Dennys and Steve was barely concious.
Try not to be jealous of the level of romance in my life.