25 years ago today, I went on a date with a skinny, outspoken red-headed boy. I was 17, a junior in high school and he was 18, a senior, and one of the cutest guys I’d ever talked to. We’d attended the same elementary school years earlier and I was nervous, at first, because back then he had a reputation for being mean and violent. But in class he was sometimes abrasive but also funny and wicked smart which, even then, was an irresistible combination for me.
We’d been flirting for weeks in Mr. Piscatelli’s Sociology class and he’d asked me out twice. Both times I’d already had other plans and turned him down, but I knew he thought I was blowing him off. I screwed up every ounce of courage that I didn’t really have, bought tickets to a play I’d enjoyed the past week, and on a Wednesday afternoon asked him to go out with me that weekend. I couldn’t believe he said yes and thought I’d die of nervousness between then and Friday night.
When he showed up at my door, I thought introducing him to my parents would be the most embarrassing part of the evening (GOD they were so uncool) but after our dogs both stuck their noses in his crotch at the door and my little sister danced through the living room in nothing but her underwear my humiliation was complete. He ran over a turtle,though, with his giant black ‘71 Duster on the way to the theater, which kinda balanced things out.
We went to see a local production of “Noises Off” - a farce full of physical comedy and double entendres (and still, I say, one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen on stage). He laughed a lot, but seemed terribly uncomfortable; I later learned that he’d never seen live theater before except for school productions and was uncertain of the proper etiquette. I worried that I was laughing too much and that he’d think I had a horribly inappropriate sense of humor for a girl (which I do). By the second act, though, we were holding hands and my head was on his shoulder and I was in heaven. It was a fabulous first date.
And…well…we’ve been together ever since. For 25 years - more than half of my life at this point - he’s been my best friend, my partner, my lover, and my rock. We haven’t always been “in love”, and we haven’t always fit easily together but I have always, always known that he loves me and would do anything to help me and make me happy. I may bitch about him a lot online, but I’ve never met a better man and I guard him fiercely from anyone who would hurt him. And while sometimes I do miss that thrill of new relationship energy and the swooning feeling of infatuation, I know that my deepest satisfaction comes from the stability of loving someone who loves me despite knowing every one of my flaws and the comfort of absolute commitment to this relationship. I quite literally cannot imagine my life without him.
Today he is off work, our son is out of town with my mother, and we are enjoying a rare quiet day with just the two of us and nothing in particular to do. We’re going to see a movie in a little while, and have reservations at a swank little restaurant tonight where we will enjoy cheese and wine and tiny noshes of fabulous treats. I have no doubt that amazing sex will work its way into the plans as well. Mostly, though we are enjoying each others company and appreciating the fact that we have been together for a quarter of a century and still look forward to the future. Happy 25th anniversary to me :)
