Our Extremely Unromantic “How We Met” Story

Disclaimer: This post may contain adult content.

Today makes 7 years since I met my amazing husband in the most unromantic way imaginable. I truly thank the Lord that I do not have daughters who will someday, with doe eyes and visions of romance and fantasy, ask “How did you and Daddy meet?”.

I would be forced to lie through my teeth, telling her about candles, flowers, fate, timing, and all that love at first sight bull. That is not even close. This is how it happened.

On Feb. 23rd, 2008 me and my two best friends decided to stray from the city club scene to meet up with one of their moms and visit a hole in wall bar in a tiny interstate town an hour away.

I was 17, a senior in high school. Yes, that is under the legal age but it was high school, a time to be dangerous and have fun. I went out every weekend with my friends to the clubs, but we NEVER drank and we most certainly NEVER went home with guys or brought them home with us. We sincerely loved to dance and be together, just us girls.

Me and my two friends get all dolled up for our night out, not really knowing where we were going. Her mom had arranged to meet us at her boyfriends house near the bar. I have to admit I did not notice Jerry at that time. He jokingly offered me a seat saying “I don’t bite” to which I replied “I do.” And there it was, our first exchange of words.

We all headed to the bar minutes later. I insisted on taking my own car so we could make a swift get away from what I assumed would be a uneventful wasted night. We arrived early to avoid being carded when the crowds hit. Success! I don’t think it would have mattered anyway. It was one of those towns where everybody knows everybody and we were with the regulars.

Within minutes of arriving we started to plan our escape to go somewhere else. Then I saw him, saw him, SAW him. It still wasn’t love, even sexual attraction. He was just cute.

He approached our table and began asking the ice breaker questions. “How old are y’all?” …”Uh oh, Here we go!” I thought. I was NOT in the mood to be hit on. Wasn’t my thing. When I dropped the “I’m 17” bomb, I figured he would laugh and high tail it out of there and save me the trouble of having to be rude to him later.

When he announced he was 30 I was shocked yet confident I wouldn’t be seeing him again that night. He did disappear temporarily. I later learned he was off downing enough alcohol to justify himself hitting on a 17 year old. Nice… what a keeper. He and his cousins occasional stopped by our table to offer to buy us drinks. My companions were more than eager to take them up on their offer, but I was always the mother figure in the bunch, feeling the need to keep a level head and look out for their best interests. Boring, I know, but I take some pride in knowing I was somewhat of a responsible teen, even when doing illegal things. *cough* sneaking into a bar *cough*.

After about an hour the DJ had already started playing and my friends had decided to stay, with the pleading of Jerry and his cousins. They had spotted guys of their own and they were going in for the kill. I eventually agreed to have one drink, all the while Jerry was charming the hell out of me. He was funny. Funny is my weakness. His smile, why didn’t I notice that earlier? The way his eyes scrunch up, it’s sweet. The drunker he got the funnier he was. No matter how much he laid it on me I was very suspicious. I was NEVER the one to get hit on when my girls where with me. I knew there had to be a catch.

Let me stop here to point out, he was not a sloppy drunk. It was not until later I realized the true level of FUBAR he was.

Things had stayed at innocent flirting until we began talking tattoos… I know, even classier huh? He and a friend pulled off their hoodies to show one another their ink, and there it was. Oh my! Why did he ever have these things hid under his shirt? Arms… ooh sweet 19″, pick me up, carry me home, throw me around, squeezed me tightly arms. Before I realized it, I had my hand clamped down on a bicep..

It had happened. I had crossed that boundary between words and looks to physical touch. Y’all know the one I mean. Where it becomes obviously clear you’re interested. Up until this point I wasn’t aware I even was. As my friends started to migrate to the dance floor for a slow dance with their new found interest, he asked me to dance.

“I don’t slow dance with dudes in bars!” I thought self righteously. My friends had abandoned me at the table, he was so sweet and funny, I wanted to get a better feel on those arms, oh what the heck. Why not?

Jerry is short. It’s no secret. After standing from my bar stool I really realized that. I motioned him to wait and removed my 6″ heels then followed him onto the dance floor barefoot. This was the first, last, and only romantic part of this entire night. Being face to face with this man, trying so hard to get my attention, I caved. Maybe it was the lights, the music, the overwhelming amount of tobacco in the air, but something made us kiss. It was wonderful. As somebody who does NOT like to kiss (I know, I’m weird) it was that perfect movie moment.

I, slightly embarrassed, returned to my table with my girls as the song ended, while he ventured off grinning like the cheshire cat to make sure his boys “saw that right there, son!”. Then my girls started in on me.

“You should keep it going”

“We can stay here in town tonight”

“Come on, lived a little”

“Just try it, one time”

My friends where actually suggesting I, me, designated driver, hair holding, mama bear, have a one night stand?! WHAT!? No way! This wasn’t my thing. My thing was to make sure nobody ran off with them and if they did end up in somebody’s truck, I find them and get them home slightly hung over the next day. That was my job.

The night moved on. We had a blast. My girls and I tore up the dance floor, dancing to every song like nobody was watching. Jerry continued to make his advances and by the end of the night he was glued to my side. My girls constant encouragement led me to start thinking really hard about the offer to stay the night. Peer pressure, what can I say?

By time we left the bar he ended up in the car with us. In true small town tradition, we headed over to the only 24 hour food joint open for late night grubbage, where Jerry managed to show off his artistic skills by drawing a rat holding a huge veiny penis on a napkin. His level of drunk was becoming very very very apparent. But hey, I love the arts. Can’t knock him for some artistic expression huh?

The details after this get a little blurry. I’ve read that the brain likes to shut out bad memories so I can only assume that’s what was happening. We all ended up back at the house we had started at. I will save you the gritty details and say this. What followed was most awkward uncomfortable 10 minutes of sexual engagement I have ever experienced. He was three sheets to the wind and I was a nervous wreck. That is the extent of my memory, thankfully.

“This is fun? Really? Women do this? Every weekend?” I thought laying in a twin size bed with a man 13 years my senior. I was exhausted from a long strange bizarre day, so I passed out like a light.

Early the next morning I felt him stirring.

“He’s leaving. ok. I did it. First, hopefully last and only one night stand is done.”

I mean that’s what is suppose to happen right? They leave, then you avoid the awkwardness of daylight. I waited until I heard my friends stirring in the living room before getting up. Much to my surprise, HE WAS STILL THERE! What the hell man! You’re making this even weirder. It was slightly obvious he may be feeling just as awkward as myself. I assumed in his sober state, in the light of morning, he would revert to being a courteous stranger. That’s how it’s suppose to happen right? Hollywood said so!

No. He ended up pulling me down into his lap.

“This guy really likes me? Sober?”

I was soooo confused. I was relieved to see he was just as funny and charming sober as he was drunk. Maybe I didn’t do so bad for myself?

We swapped numbers.  I assumed it was the courteous thing to do. As we gathered our things he asked what we had planned. “Heading home I guess“I told him. “you?”

“Going to get my kids.” He replied.

SHUT THE FRONT DOOR! KIDS! Eeeeew! I slept with a dad! Gross! Not one, not two, but he had 3 kids!

He overheard my friends and I discussing gas funds as we got ready to head out, he then reached in his pocket and handed me a bill. I didn’t think to even look until I got to the car. I then thought, “Holy crap. I just became a prostitute. I just got paid for sex!” What have I done!? My price?…… $10…. Yes whole damn $10.

He still gets an earful about that one. He swears it was the only bill he had in his pocket that wasn’t a $100 and he was just trying to help us with gas. I should have gotten a few $100 for the awful performance I suffered!

Half way home, through all the “omg“s and “I can’t believe you did that“s I hung my head in shame and exclaimed, for clarity to myself, “I just slept with a 30 year old dad.”

A DAD!!!

He was so charming though. I truly liked this man. I could imagine how much fun he would be and I could even forgive how awful our night together was, just to hang out with him. But Mama didn’t raise no fool. I knew I wouldn’t be hearing from that guy again. He was probably beating himself up knowing out there, somewhere,  was a girl who would always remember his sloppy drunken attempt at a good time.

Before I could make it home my phone rang. He was calling me!? This is NOT how it’s suppose to happen! Even if he was interested, he is suppose to wait 3 days while I sit on edge awaiting his call. I immediately thought, “Aaah, he knows how bad he was. He’s trying to leave a better last impression with his actions this morning”

He started to call me every day, multiple times a day. Our conversations would go on and on about everything. I never thought in a million years we would have so much to talk about, being at such different stages of our lives. We NEVER mentioned the events of our night together. It was a short period of time we both wanted to forget as soon as possible. After 2 weeks of continuous contact he picked me up to stay the weekend with him. That sealed it. It was the best weekend of my life until that point.

Sober…. sober was amazing. Totally, completely, overwhelmingly, made up for every horrid second spent in the tiny twin bed at his cousins. I wanted to be with him every second after that. I became physically sick when he would have to leave for work hours away.

In a very short period we became so determined to be with one another, he was driving 4 hours home every chance he got so we could be together. I was skipping classes to squeeze in every precious moment with him I could. It was quite a thing to have my 30 year old boyfriend in the stands at my high school graduation a few months later.

Graduation 2008

Less than 3 months from that night in the bar, I moved in with him. It was the same night I graduated high school. I packed my bags and haven’t looked back. A month after moving in, he proposed to me. 3 days shy of a year since that night in the bar, I became his wife.

The rest is history.