Today marks the ten-year anniversary of when Justin and I first really met and started dating. I say first “really met” because I knew who he was before because we were in choir together in college. He was one of the guys who walked in late to every single rehearsal, even though he was sitting in the office right outside the rehearsal room.
To be honest, I wasn’t exactly interested in him (sorry honey!), I was more interested in his taller friend. Turns out, though, that the taller friend wasn’t exactly interested in girls. But I didn’t know that at the time, so I continued to think “those two guys are rude punks, even if they are kinda cute,” and continued with rehearsal. Unfortunately, I didn’t make ANY sort of impression on him back then. In fact, I don’t believe he ever saw me in that sea of scowling faces turned to look at the uppity morons coming in late again.
Fast-forward to August 27, 1998. My roommate and I are in a campus bar on “Ladies Night” during the first week of classes. We’re busy waving to friends, dancing, and drinking. We bump into Justin and his friends (uh, I actually can’t remember that he was there with anyone, but I’m pretty sure that he was). My roomie and Justin recognize each other because they have a music history/theory/la-la class together and her still-drunk butt tripped over his desk earlier that morning because she and I had been at Penny Drafts the previous night. She introduces us and the rest, as they say, is history.
So happy Ten Years Together, Justin! Who’da thunk that night that we’d stick together through your graduate program, moving 700 miles away from our families, working at the same company (nay, working TWO FREAKIN’ CUBES away from each other on the same team), get married, build a house, have a little red-headed boy full of giggles, acquire two dogs (in addition to the four cats I already had), move to what I would liken to our dream house, and have another silly little boy? Amazing! I love you!