2005 Was A Very Good Year

In 2004 I had lunch with a couple of girlfriends who suggested the eharmony website. I had no interest, no interest at all. My first marriage ended in an unmitigated disaster; the stuff of cheap sordid novels. My ex-husband’s betrayal had left me so emotionally devastated that I had no further interest in dating, much less marriage. Besides, I had my future planned. I would retire soon, sell my house, and move back to my home town where I would live happily with my now divorced brother. I envisioned our occupying an old dilapidated house together. We would be the peculiar bro/sis (every neighborhood has one) who wandered around in their threadbare bathrobes all day, complaining about the neighbor’s noisy dog; pouring Cocoa Puffs and milk into a blender, then calling it a smoothie. 

However, to pacify my nagging friends, I agreed to join for one month, which was the smallest membership increment possible. The questionnaire process was very time consuming and more than mildly thought provoking. Not only was I compelled to write in complete sentences, I had to actually consider a few real life scenarios, ie., how big a deal was it to live with someone who was a slob. I discovered that I am a neat freak, that I would rather read a book than watch TV, that camping was not my idea of a good time and that I would prefer to put my head in the oven before I would tolerate football, or any sports, season in my living room, not to mention my aversion to beer belching contests. Ultimately, I realized that I wanted three things from a man: He must be intelligent. I did not want to explain why, even though we were on the east coast, we could still see the sunset. Also, he was to have a sense of humor. After all, what could be more eye rolling boring than a smug supercilious man droning on about a convoluted theory regarding the cosmic black hole into which I would very quickly want to jump. Last, and equally important, he was obliged to be kind. If those three traits were not available in male human form, then I had the second option of joining a convent should my brother decide I indeed was too much of a neat freak. So, many hours later, after answering all these myriad questions, I pressed the send button, only to have an immediate response appear: “We have no matches for you”. 

Eventually, a number of somewhat appropriate swains appeared in my In box. In reviewing their personal CVs, three other critical factors came into play. Age, for one. Age did not matter when I was 20 and he was 30, but when I was 50 and he was 60, well, how long would it be before I was spoon feeding him his pablum, so any more than two years difference and he was tossed into the trash bin. Next was the issue of children. My clock had never ticked. A number of men wrote that their children were their greatest pleasure and treasure, which is as it should be. However since I had chosen not to have children, I did not want to live my life around someone else’s children. Their children would always come first which, again, is as it should be. Unfortunately, I too am of the “me first” variety of wife. Trash bin once more. Last, he had to be geographically desirable.  Women know (and men are free to argue this point, but please don’t) that men will drive to our home the first few dates, but once they are sure of our feelings, we will be driving to their home each date night or weekend. I had no interest in spending one or two hours driving to his home, no matter how tony the neighborhood. So, with those three further caveats, the field narrowed considerably and the trash bin reigned. 

Finally, my future husband appeared on my virtual doorstep. Our meeting and courtship were filled hilariously with paradoxes, puzzles and enigmas. Our first meeting almost didn’t take place. I arrived a few minutes early, he arrived a moment late. I waited inside at the cozy bar, while he waited outside on the cold and windy bench. An hour later, I was about to leave in a huff when he finally walked in, angry, chilled and hungry. But, meet we did; I spent the evening humming Some Enchanted Evening while he charmed me with stories. And yes, we have laughed about that evening quite often. While I was fairly sure from our first meeting that he was “the one”, the morning my car battery died sealed it. He hied himself to the store and replaced it with minimum fuss. I was thrilled; no metrosexual was he. No, nothing to laugh about here; this guy was a keeper. Time passed, and even today I’m not sure how or when we agreed to marry, but agree we did. Our wedding day was going well, until we appeared in front of the justice of the peace who asked for the marriage license, which my soon to be husband had been left on the couch. I tried not to read anything Freudian into his omission as I waited for his return with the critical document, but return he did. I do, he do, we did and yes, we have laughed about it often. 

We were wed on April 20, 2005. The years passed, we retired, moved across the country, lived our lives as partners and friends; shared in joys and sorrows, laughed and cried together. My heart is full because he accomplished what I thought no man could ever do again: he restored my hope and faith in love.  As Buddy Holly reverently sang: Sometimes we’ll cry, sometimes we’ll sigh, but by and by, just you and I’ll know true love’s ways. Happy anniversary, to the man who changed my life forever.