If you’ve read this blog for more than five minutes…
….you’ve heard the all the stories before.
And the exciting, scintillating tale about the day I realized I was in love with a spreadsheet.
There are a zillion chapters in our story full of life and laughter and love and challenges and a few obstacles along the way.
But there’s one story that I’ve never told.
It’s actually the prologue to all the tales I’ve already told–and just between us? You might be surprised.
Because our story?
It came SO close to never being written.
In our high school, there was one event each year that every girl waited for with excitement and anticipation.
The annual Sadie Hawkins dance.
It was amazing.
I’m not really sure who Sadie was and if Hawkins was her married name, but once upon a time apparently she was bold and courageous enough to work up the nerve to ask a boy out.
And that’s what started the tradition.
Every year in October, thanks to Sadie, girls everywhere would ask boys to the Sadie Hawkins dance. It was liberating and exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time.
Me and myself and I had our eye on a boy.
We thought he was the cutest boy in all the land.
He had dark curly hair and eyes that twinkled and the cutest voice and a dimple on one side of his face when he smiled.
Maybe it was that he was in a band.
Maybe it was because he walked around with drumsticks in his back pocket.
Maybe it was because he knew all the answers in geometry class.
But there was an air of mystery that surrounded him as he sauntered down the high school hallways.
So I told my friend how cute I thought he was and asked her if she thought he liked anyone and had she seen his dimple and did his eyes actually twinkle as much as I thought they did?
And what did she think about me asking him to the dance?
And she told me she thought I was brilliant.
Which of course, I was.
Later that week at a basketball game in the high school gym, I saw my opportunity.
There he was.
All alone except for the drumsticks in his back pocket.
I gathered up every ounce of my courage and approached him and asked him in a voice that was supposed to be confident and enticing (except it came out squeaky and shaking)….
….if he wanted to go to the Sadie Hawkins dance with me.
And he smiled at me.
And his eyes twinkled.
And he took a breath and in his super cute voice he said, “No.”
What was he thinking as he was making literally the biggest mistake of his life?
I couldn’t believe it.
I was mortified.
The cutest boy in the entire world had turned me down flat? My face turned red and I mumbled something and stumbled away down the bleacher steps.
Years later I asked him why he said no. He told me some story about how he didn’t know what to say and he didn’t really dance and he didn’t even go to dances.
Just between us? He is sweet and shy and kind and wonderful and I think in that moment?
I was just too much. Too extra. Too over-the-top. Too overwhelming.
In retrospect when I analyze the situation, I’m sure I was weirdly trying to bat my eyelashes and smile like a supermodel and give him all the hints and all the sideways glances and letting him know without a doubt in the first 10 seconds that I liked him. That I really, really, really liked him.
He just wasn’t ready in that moment….
….for the amazingness (and super extraness) that is me.
I never really spoke to him again in high school.
When I saw him in the halls I always acted like I had WAY bigger things to do than ask him to a dance ever again.
We graduated and left high school and went on to college and a new life.
And the story should have ended there.
Except two years later I got a call on a phone with a cord in the upstairs landing of the house we live in now.
I couldn’t believe it. A pair of twinkling eyes on the other end asked me if I wanted to go out.
What should I say?
Maybe it was the fact that it was Christmastime.
Maybe it was how sweet his voice sounded.
Maybe I wanted to see if he was still as cute as he was in high school.
But me, myself and I?
We didn’t say no. We said yes.
And the rest (as they say in all really good stories)…
…is history. 🙂
PS One final note in this story’s chapter. Last week we went back to the same highschool in the same gym for an event for my niece. The bleachers looked the same. The gym was painted the same colors. The walls looked the same.
Nothing much had changed.
Except for one thing.
This time? He went home with the girl. 🙂
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