January 11, 2012

First Love; First Kiss

Oh, I thought I was in love a few times in my teen years, but I've come to realize now I didn't actually know those fellows well enough to really love them. They were just lingering crushes, and completely one sided, I'm sure.

As I've said before, Hubby was the only fellow I ever actually dated. We met our sophomore year of college when he joined Calhoun's college newspaper staff. During the usual "breaking the ice" round of telling about ourselves, he mentioned he was studying a traditional form of karate. I did likewise when my turn came. He asked who my sensei was, and it turned out we were taking the same style under different teachers. A couple weeks later, he saw me working on whatever story I was writing at the time. That led to a discussion of writing, science fiction, and a couple hours later he asked me on a date.

We had dinner and caught "The Musketeer" playing at the local theater the following night, talked every evening that weekend, and had a picnic in the park the following Tuesday. After we ate, we decided to walk around the park. Ten years later, I can't quite remember what we talked about that day, but neither of us can forget our first kiss down by the waterside.

Our engagement photo from November 2002.
It was my first, but he didn't know this. When he went to deepen the kiss, I panicked and jumped about two feet back. He had this look like I'd slapped him and started apologizing immediately. (I'd been told not to let him know I'd never been so much as kissed before, old as I was, because guys are blah, blah, blah.) I told him he had nothing to apologize for and confessed.

"I wish you'd told me," he said, blushing crimson. "I wouldn't have done that."

Three weeks later he told me he'd marry me one day.

"Took you long enough to figure that out," I responded with a smirk and a laugh.

"When did you know?" he asked.

"That day in the park."

It was a little more than a year later he officially proposed the Sunday before Thanksgiving, not long after we'd gotten back to my parent's house following church that evening. I'd barely managed to say, "Yes!" before Mom hollered supper was done.

My folks knew something was going on because he was unusually clumsy with his fork that evening before he managed to ask Dad's permission, which he gave on the condition we both finished college first. We'd planned to do so anyway, and after a round of hugs and handshakes, we set off to tell his parents.

Nine years later, we're still holding strong, more in love than ever.

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