17 April 2007

a (delayed) Sunday story (8)

I was less than anxious to do a Story on Sunday and thought I would take a break. These are really only of interest to us and maybe really only 20 years from now. I'm sure this blog will still be going strong in 2027. You'll still be reading, right?

As I was laying in bed last night listening to my husband make his sleeping noises, I was inspired. And, who am I to fight inspiration?! On to the story...

One Spring Thursday night, I was out with my friends. We had experienced a fairly uneventful night of dancing here. Until...someone spotted a group of young men who looked just like what we'd been searching for....short Corps haircuts, but not too short...certainly not Fish-cuts. After all, we were mature sophomores and juniors. We weren't looking for Freshman.

We made our way through the crowded dance floor and slyly began dancing smack next to those guys. It wasn't long until we were noticed. My roommate leaned over to tell me that the guy to my left kept looking at me. You may think I decided to check this guy out. You'd be wrong...I was sly...like a fox. No way could I risk letting some strange guy think I was the least bit interested in him. A few songs later, "left-side guy" approached me (with the help of a friend, right, Joel? :) and asked me to dance with him.

That is when it all began. "Left-side guy" and I talked and laughed. I remember he was sweating like he'd just run a marathon, but it wasn't gross (even though that sounds really gross). There was something so genuine about him. He told me he was nervous, but at the same time he exuded confidence.

I'm sure you've guessed (or hoped) "left-side guy" was Bryan. And, actually at this point in the story you would know more than me. I couldn't really hear him when he told me his name. I knew it was either "Bryan" or "Ryan"...surely you can understand the confusion. Ryan, errr, uhh, Bryan asked if I would dance with him again later. I wanted to shout, "Later?! Why not right now?! And for the rest of the night?!" Instead I said something vague like "Sure".

So, I waited and waited and waited. I watched him dance with other girls. I turned down dances with other boys. (I'm telling you I was committed from day 1) My friends all left, except for my wonderful roommates. Finally, he approached me again. And we danced and talked and laughed for the rest of the night, which wasn't long because of all the time he wasted with the other girls. He introduced me to his friends and I introduced him to mine. We walked out together and then he said, "Welp, see you later."

See me later? When, exactly, will you see me, later?

See, there was no way for him to let me know when and where we should meet up again because he had no contact information for me. If I'd had a self-esteem issue, I might have gotten the idea that he didn't really want to see me again. Ever.

About 3 weeks later, we happened (and I really mean, I didn't plan it) to be near each other on the exact same dance floor. Good thing I didn't have any self-esteem issues because once I spotted him it only took about 3 tries before I walked right up and grabbed his arm. He turned around, gave me the best smile and said, "Ginny!"

We were side by side for the rest of the night. We saw each other almost everyday for the next week and then probably every day for the rest of the semester. That was 10 years ago.

I was inspired last night because as my sweet husband slept next to me so peacefully, I remembered how much I like him. It's easy to let the kids, bills, home repairs, car repairs, jobs, and other responsibilities get in the way of looking at your spouse the way you did "back then". Even though my SIL likes to say that I remind her of Debra on Everybody Loves Raymond, I really do adore my husband. He is my best friend. He is loyal and faithful and immature at times. He is logical and straightforward and silly. He is a great father and an example of a Christian husband for our girls. He is my partner and I knew from that first dance that he was someone worth waiting for.