I met my husband ten years ago this week. I would love to say I saw him across a crowded room, but that would be a filthy lie.
My freshman year of college I had to live in a seven story dorm. During orientation week I only had two friends: one that lived on the fifth floor with me, and one that lived on the ground floor. In the grand tradition of freshman, the three of us stuck together like glue afraid to venture out into the cold, cruel world of college without each other. Which is ironic since the day I met these two girls I was forced to do a ropes course in hundred degree weather and got heat stroke, but whatever.
One night, fifth floor friend and I were going to fetch ground floor girl for dinner. We went to her room and knocked on her door, and she said come in. I swear the girl said come in. We opened the door and she was lying on the bed with a boy’s hand up her shirt. She just smiled and asked if it was time for dinner. Fifth floor and I blushed and ducked back into the hall to wait for the two of them to figure out how to pull her shirt back down. Boob boy and ground floor girl joined us for dinner, and boob boy became the fourth member of our growing circle of friends.
A few months later after more stories he won’t want me to tell you but that I’ll post eventually I’m sure, we started dating. Little did I know that boob boy was my future husband, but after nearly ten years of adventures, I must say I’m glad one of my first friends was an exhibitionist, glad that my husband found the ground floor(moderately slutty) girl as his rebound, and glad that I only made two friends my first week of college. And the rest as they say is history, which I will use as blackmail as often as possible.