I’m six feet tall. He was about five foot seven. I told him to get lost, and he did. Go me.
In preparation for writing this story, I took a moment for self-reflection, and realized that I take a lot of my behavioral cues from women. Growing up, the two people I was closest to were my mom and my older sister, both strong women who took no shit, especially from me. I met my wife when I was 21, and she too is the type to take not a bit of excrement. This is the story of the night I met her.
Before I get into that, I should explain that I’m proud to have my behavior molded by strong women, because men are often testosterone-driven dipshits. I’ve always gotten along better with women, felt like I could be more myself around them. Two of my closest friends in high school are women. So many men feel the need to carry this façade of violence in their personalities. I hate it. Maybe that’s why over 70% of the followers on my Facebook page are women.
One thing people often say when they meet me is, “You’re a lot nicer than I would have imagined.” Well, yeah. The guy that goes on profanity-laden tirades about historical injustices on the internet doesn’t walk around spewing that same stuff at random people he meets. I mean, unless you ask me to. Also, the communicative part of my brain is bifurcated. The language centers that control what comes out of my mouth, and what gets communicated via my fingers don’t have a ton of overlap. People sometimes say, “You write like people talk.” I do swear a lot, but I don’t rant much. I’m quieter in person.
Anyway, back to the beautiful woman who is upstairs still asleep, and a thing that happened the night we met.
It was September 8, 1989, at the University of Calgary. It was the “frosh cabaret.” The band was called Skaboom and a nice way to put it would be to say that I was not a fan. I had gone with a friend. Early in the evening he spotted a blonde woman and said to me, “See that blonde over there? She’s in my psychology class. You want to come over with me and talk to her friend?”
I looked at the brunette standing beside her. She smiled her lovely smile, and I was smitten. She later told me that I smiled back, and she liked it. She said she saw kindness in my smile. Without saying a word to my friend, I walked toward her, and said hello. We spent the rest of the evening talking.
We had been talking for a while and I’d been working up the courage to ask her on a date. I decided liquid bravery might help and went to get a drink. When I returned, she was talking to another guy.
I am not so good at reading signals. From my perspective, it seemed like she was happy to be talking to him. I was chagrined, thinking she’d lost interest in me and was more into this other dude. But I wasn’t ready to give up because I really liked her. I stood not far away, sipping my beer, hoping the course of the evening might change.
And then it did, perhaps a minute later. She leaned toward me and said, “Please get this guy in the plaid shirt away from me.”
I said I often take my behavioral cues from women. I now had permission to be a tough guy. I was emboldened. I realized he was on the smaller side, compared to me, at least. I walked over, and the words just appeared. “Okay, pal,” I said. “Time to hit the road.”
It’s so stupid. It still makes me giggle.
But he looked at me, seemed about to protest, but then nodded and walked away.
That changed the course of the evening. From then on, I knew that my future wife was into me. I asked her to dinner, and she said yes. This was the age before cell phones, and I didn’t have anything to write with. So, I memorized her phone number. Over 34 years later I still remember it. I cannot fathom the turn my life would have taken had I forgotten that number.
Later in the evening she and I were walking close together and passed by the guy in the plaid shirt. He caught my eye and gave me the triple-approving wink, nod, and thumbs up. I provided a contemptuous sneer in return. I later learned from her that they went to high school together, and that he was a creep.
But in a way, I’m grateful to him. He gave me the opportunity to learn that she liked me, and we have a funny story about the night we met.
Her alarm is going off soon, and she’ll want snuggles to brace for the cold and snowy Monday, so I better publish this and head upstairs.
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Plot twist! My wife and I went to the same high school, but I graduated a couple of months before she began. The twist is that I was in the same year as this dude’s older brother. And he and I were most certainly not friends.
It is possible. That was her first year and she did bio chem but I know she took some psych classes. I took several myself.