I’m not really sure how I got my husband to marry me. I am stubborn, difficult, opinionated, passionate (the PC word for “bitchy”), and often so introverted that I make other people feel uncomfortable. I also thought I would never get married because I didn’t think I’d find someone who I felt safe enough with and someone who viewed partnership in the same ways I did.
Well, I did.
Andy would tell you that he wore me down, but I’m not so sure about that. Here’s our story.
I completely understand how I caught his attention. This part makes sense to me. On one of his first trips to the cafeteria in college, he was sitting with a group of guys he was just getting to know, and I was walking around asking people to complete a survey on masturbation. That’s right. You see, I was doing research for a major presentation my freshman year, and I had chosen to study and present on peoples’ views on a little self-love.
Anyway, I approached his table and gave my spiel. I ignored their holy fucking shit reactions, as I was very used to these by now, having gone door-to-door in my dorm distributing surveys. I don’t really remember Andy’s reaction in particular, but he told me later on that he stayed quiet and very quickly completed the survey to appease my request. He also told me that from that moment on, I was on his radar.
And really, how could I not be? It’s not everyday a girl asks you to dish on your palm-to-crotch exploits like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
Since Andy and I were studying the same thing in college, we had classes together here and there. But we didn’t really talk. He kept an eye on me and I do remember noticing his dimple. Come on, who doesn’t love a little dent in someone’s cheek?
Well, three years later, Andy and I ended up in a very small writing class our senior year. The class of four students met with our professor in a tiny conference room to read and critique our essays out loud.
I don’t remember how this came up, but somehow Andy admitted to being the douche who sprayed a bunch of people’s vehicles with mud in the parking lot one day. Andy was the owner of a loud, big, yellow truck that he enjoyed getting a little dirty, and he had decided to spin his enormous tires until several cars were covered in mud (I later named his truck the “stupid yellow truck,” because it was like riding on a very loud Big Bird). He had gotten caught and was fined. I didn’t know he was the guy responsible for what I considered to be an act of stupidity and assholery until it came up in our class.
When I found out, I said something to the effect of: “That was you?! You’re a fucking asshole!” (See what I mean about being opinionated?) When Andy tells this story, which he now enjoys, he screams this part with animated hands and says that he was so shocked by what I called him that he was looking for either a place to hide or someone to come to his defense, neither of which happened.
To be honest, I think Andy was a little scared of me. I can be scary, I’ll admit.
Lucky for you, and for us, Andy’s and my story doesn’t end there. We graduated college and ended up attending the same graduate program. Go figure.
During orientation, I was sitting alone in the giant auditorium, near the front, and Andy was sitting way in back (his usual pick for large crowds). After returning from a break, Andy walked past me on his way back to his seat, then turned around and gave me a friendly wave and a “Hey! How are you?” We spoke for a few minutes, and then he ended up sitting next to me for the remainder of the presentation. During the walking tour of the huge campus, we walked together and talked a lot about college life and our families. I found him interesting.
Andy would tell you that during orientation, he had almost ignored me, but what made him turn around was his determination to prove to me that he was not the “fucking asshole” I had called him.
I think it’s safe to say that he proved me wrong. Andy is very much not an asshole, just a big kid at heart who thought other people would like having their vehicles covered in mud as much as he does. It wasn’t his best move, but it was forgivable.
Our story continues with us sharing many classes, after which we’d spend HOURS standing outside talking and laughing. We eventually started hanging out on weekends too, and started having sleepovers in which we’d stay up until it was light outside watching movies and talking. We became fast friends.
Then he shared his feelings with me. He sent me a text after hanging out one night and asked if I ever thought we could be more. I remember feeling excited but scared, and I just didn’t want to ruin what we had, which was pretty awesome. Andy would tell you that this text conversation had solidified for him that he was permanently in the “friend zone,” and that he was planning to back way off because he didn’t want to get hurt. He told me later that I was his “dream girl,” that he had always dreamed of being with someone like me. Dreamy? Me? I didn’t understand this because I didn’t think anyone found my sarcasm, crude language, or manly belches dreamy, but he did. Okay dude, whatever.
But then things changed. Our conversations became more intimate and we realized that what we had was more than friendship. I wasn’t scared anymore. I wanted him, he wanted me, and it just seemed to fit.
Now, six years later, we’ve been married for almost four.
Being together is work because we’re polar opposites in many ways, but Andy rocks my socks and explodes my heart.
So who wore whom down? I still don’t know. But I’m sure glad one of us did.