May is my anniversary month, a time where it has become a traditional joke to remind people of when A passed out at his own wedding.
If you were there you probably remember the words “omgosh” coming out of your mouth, and if you weren’t there, you’ve had to settle for third person accounts of the day.
Now, I’m not one who generally provides the world with daily status updates of my undying love for my husband; it’s there, but frankly, I find excessive internet affection annoying. And by excessive I mean like every 30 seconds :: status update:: my significant other is amazing. Then 30 seconds later ::status update:: my significant other is more amazing than they were 30 seconds ago.
These are the same people who take a million pictures of the cheesecake they had for dinner at a million different angles, a thing that could essentially be summarized in 1 picture that yes, there was a cheesecake…and yes, it was amazing.
But I digress.
I do like sharing what goes on in my head during really big occurrences in my life (because my brain is funnily all over the place) …like the first time I met A.
Now, I get that every love story begins with the same Oh, my heart was beating so fast and there were butterflies everywhere! different color butterflies just fluttering…. I’m pretty sure they were flying in my face while we googly eyed all night….
But let me premise this by saying that at the time of our first date, I had been saturating my reads with trashy historical romance novels. You know, the kind with the Gaelic Laird who finds an English damsel in distress who, upon seeing the mighty warrior with powerful thighs and his devilishly handsome grin, starts having these feelings that go against everything she had learned from her pure virtuous upbringing with the nuns. Though she tries to resist these thoughts, she finds herself blushing at the very thought of what it would be like… to just …straddle him.
You might laugh, but these books do exist; I know because I have read a lot of them and I still read them from time to time. While some people find guilty pleasure in keeping up with the Kardashians, Britney Spears, or watching YouTube videos on “how to twerk”, my guilty pleasure is trashy historical romance novels that often leave me wishing I had that experience of being saved from a locked tower of some sort.
But what does this have to do with the first time I met A?
In being so saturated in these books, the first time I opened the front door and saw A, with his 6ft plus self and muscles just …everywhere, he was literally the biggest person I had ever stood next to, mainly because I hung around Asians 99 % of the time. It sequentially made me think about all the Gaelic Lairds I had ever read about, which then made me come to the realization that this … this being in front of me is what all the fictional damsels were probably looking at when they were getting all hot and bothered.
I am pretty sure my first words were something along the lines of “hey”, but my thoughts could only revolve around one word:
.. and that my friends, was my first impression. It’s been 8 years since that epic event in my life, and after 6 years of marriage, reminiscing about the first whoa always puts a smile on my face.