There have been all sorts of sappy love stories hitting the internets lately. All sorts of bloggers talking about how it felt when they met their one true love and how they didn’t used to believe in love at first sight until so-and-so walked into their lives and then WHAM! – hello, lover! I eat it all up with a pitchfork because I love stories of how people met and fall in love and live happily ever after. I think it’s neat to know that sometimes the universe isn’t just an asshole and that sometimes, two people who are totally meant to be get to be.
I’d love to tell the story of how the husband and I met and fell in love, but not right now. Instead, I’ll tell the story of how we almost weren’t even friends.
Andrew and I met through the Army. There are a million and one little twists and turns that led us to each other. But no. We both made a whole series of very big decisions that landed us at Fort Belvior, Va. in November of 2005.
Within the first five minutes of meeting Andrew, I tried to high-five him. He ignored me.
Normally, I would have held of a grudge. In fact, he would probably tell you that I have held a grudge because ever so often, especially when people ask us how we met, I always berate him for not returning my high-five. I mean, there’s just some things you don’t ignore. High-fives from your future wife happens to top that list.
What makes it all so strange is that my husband, my dear, sweet husband, really like high-fives. He likes giving them, receiving them. High-fives, low-fives, whatever-fives – he likes them. And yet, on that fateful day he just couldn’t be bothered with high-fiving me back.
His excuse is that he’s socially awkward. I say his excuse is just an excuse and that he’s lucky I gave him a second chance.
Also, for the record, for every single high-five I’ve thrown at him since that fateful November day, he’s thrown one back.