HOW I MET YOUR FATHER
Last weekend, a friend told me that “How Couples Met” stories are her favourite. I don’t tell our origin story much because its what my Dad would call a “Shaggy Dog” story – a long, slow burn yarn with numerous false starts, dead ends, and a final resolution that was so obvious to be that it was barely of note when it finally happens. But M & I’s story is exactly as it needed to be, and I wouldn’t change a thing.
I first met M in the summer between grade 10 and 11 when we all started to have our driver’s licenses. I lived in Toronto, and M lived in Collingwood. So, cars were critical to the outset of our story. Our respective crews each had access to a handful of 4 person vehicles that transported anywhere between 6-8 teens to whichever house had no parents, or more dubiously, to various gathering points in fields or woods.[1] There were any number of these weekends where M & I might have decided the other was of special interest, but it wasn’t our time. Yet.
The first time M & I might have, but didn’t, get together was in Grade 12, when he invited me to a semi formal at his boarding school. Usually, my girlfriends and I travelled as a pack, but for this formal I was the only one going. In retrospect, given how much I hate parties where I don’t know many people, it might have been tell-tale that I was willing to fly solo to go as M's date? But it was not to be, because this was my first encounter with The Buddies™. I remember little of that night. I recall there was Gin.[2] Being teenagers and thus poor planners, we did not have anything to mix with the Gin, so we drank it straight. I recall holding the hair of one of the other dates (who I had just met) while she barfed up said Gin. And I recall, at some later point, our roles being reversed. I emerged from the bathroom just in time for the last dance, which fortunately for the long game, was insufficient time for M to get his moves on.
The second time, M & I might have gotten together, but didn’t was in the summer of Grade 12,when M drove to Algonquin Park where I was working at an Outfitters with a carload of friends. And got me fired. This fiasco makes for a great story (to be told another time) but was net negative on the courtship front.
The third time M & I might have gotten together, but didn’t, was in Grade 13, when I took him to a formal at my school.[4] This time it was M’s turn to take things too far. He met his match with Long John Silver, a restaurant on an actual pirate ship where some 100 of us had a liquid dinner on empty stomachs.
The fourth time we might have gotten together, but didn’t, was in first year University, when he instead dated my roommate.
“Wait. What?”
At this point, my close girlfriends were living off campus, so M’s dorm room (two floors up from mine), was my primary hang. Which meant it was also frequented by my roommate. She was a wonderful person, but it turned out that I didn’t really love them being together. Huh.
The fifth time we might have gotten together, but didn’t, was after they broke up. At this point, we were so far into friend territory that it was hard to imagine what would change that.
Turns out that “what” was called “Purple Jesus” (a drink ironcially made with Gin).
The sixth time we might have gotten together, we did…until we didn’t. Homecoming 1990. After four years of thwarting us, alcohol consumption worked in our favour for once - providing just enough liquid courage to cross the proverbial “friend” line. At this point we were spending so much time together that our roommates didn’t even realize that things had changed. We had to awkwardly tell them – to which the response was something along the lines of “Duh.”/”What took you so long?”/”Haven’t you been dating for years?” Fair. Except that what took us so long was precisely what led to yet another dead end. Fearing we were going to ruin our friendship; M broke up with me.
At the Collingwood Pizza Hut.
Yes, at Pizza Hut.
On December 31st.
Again…Pizza Hut…December 31st.[5]
So instead of going to “RU Ready’s” for New Year’s Eve, I stayed in and wrote him a letter. Then the next morning I got out of dodge. I convinced two friends to drive to Florida for a week (well, 5 days of driving, and one day in Florida) where I made super smart choices like getting a tattoo at strip mall at the height of the AIDs epidemic.
The seventh time we might have gotten together, we did. Approximately 30 seconds after we were in the same room again. The rest is history, though I wouldn’t want to suggest we didn’t, and don’t, have hiccups and hurdles and heartaches along the road. Of course, we did and do and will. But fortunately, through it all, I have the best of friends close at hand.
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[1] A quick walk down memory lane of the cars in our friend group, which had mythic status: The Eagle, The Blue Flame, The Tercel, The “For A” Jetta, and the corresponding “For B” Jetta, the OG Jeep and the Golden Party Car.
[2] I no longer drink Gin. Or Rum. High school formals are a bad idea.
[3] Around this time, I remember a group of us playing “build your future self” where you would foretell your likely partner, job, car etc. True story: I said I would marry someone “Like Mike”. It couldn’t BE Mike. That would be weird! But “like Mike” meant someone, whomever it may turn out to be, that was fun, funny, smart, cute etc. Just not Mike himself.
Until it was.
Note: I was also going to be a lawyer in Toronto and drive a hunter green Jag. Score = 1 out of 4.
[4] Hey kids, “Grade 13” is this thing we used to have, where we spent one year too many in high school.
[5] To be fair, there weren’t many great options available in town at the time, but still. Fortunately, I never liked Pizza Hut because I haven’t been to one since.