Boy Meets Girl Part II

For those of you who've already read Part I of this story, I'm thrilled that you're back for more!  However, if you haven't read "Boy Meets Girl Part I," I strongly encourage you to do so before moving on to this post... unless you're one of those people who habitually reads the last page of the novel first, in which case, shame on you ;)

I left the bank that morning utterly stupefied.  I'm not the girl who sets her sights on a guy, then coyly shows all of her girlfriends how to weasel a phone number and a drink out of him.  Remember, I'm the girl who wears ice blue, ill-fitting ball caps and marvels at the original pulls on the drawers of a century-old house.  There is nothing sly or seductive about me.  At all.  Period.  And here I was with contact info and a date (sort of)?!  Even I was surprised... and impressed.... and so nervous I could have puked, pit-stained t-shirt and all, right there on the bank's sidewalk.  What was I thinking???  Go over to this guy's house, reintroduce myself to a girl who probably doesn't even remember my name, stay for supper with a family I've never met, and then casually thank them for a lovely, will-never-see-you-again evening?  Who does that???

I got a tattoo in college, a classic act of teenage rebellion even I was aware of at the time.  When I showed off to my family the beautiful outline of a dove on the top center of my back, I got a couple of shrugs, at least one eye roll, and a handful of smirks.  My grandma was the first the pipe up, though.  "Why in the world is there pigeon on your back???"  Nobody could really top that, and in the awkward silence of the moment, I realized I had made a mistake.  But the ink job seemed like small potatoes now that I, the introverted, non-confrontational idiot, had managed to get herself into this dinner debacle with the banker boy.

... And yet I was still captivated by the young man and the out of body, all the stars have aligned, experience at the bank.  So what did I do when I got home, you ask?  What any other highly sophisticated, college educated, independent female would.... I got on Facebook and stalked him looked him up.  The gawky, brace-faced 7th grader in me was fully prepared to find that the handsome hunk at the bank had given me some sort of bogus name and number... but there he was -- Eric Cave, North High School graduate, weird picture of him sitting pensively at a piano (strangely, in the same shirt he was wearing at the bank).  Either this guy was for real or... he was like one of those cartoon characters who only had one outfit, you know, like Ernie and that primary-colored striped shirt ;)

And just like in the movies where that puberty-laden, misfit girl in middle school morphs into a confident, knock-out of a woman with legs from here to China, I figured that perhaps my time had come.  So what did I do, you ask again?  I decided not to sit around on my can and wait for prince charming to text me his address... I requested to be his friend on Facebook!  Pretty bold move, isn't it? ;)  And after only a couple of hours and a few dozen hits of the "refresh" button on my part, I could see that Eric had accepted my friend request AND, get this, sent me a private message (insert squeals of delight)!!  This was getting serious. ;)

Eric and I messaged back and forth for the two days leading up to our "date."  I figured I had found someone just my speed when he asked things like my favorite Disney movie and my favorite holiday.  What a sweetheart.  So yes, by the time the big day rolled around, I was pretty much certain I was destined to marry this one.  Seriously.  I just knew it.

And if my instincts left any room for error, my jaw hit the floorboard of my Chevy Malibu when I pulled up to Eric's house for dinner... (in a new outfit, of course).  Do you remember the house I visited a year prior?  You know, the one with the built-in window seat and the creepy, supernatural feeling?  That, amazingly, was Eric's house.  You could have knocked me over with a feather.

Eric came out to greet me, along with a whole host of kids, all of whom had remarkably similar features and all about the same age... however that's possible.  Clearly, Eric had spent a lot of time preparing for my arrival-- dinner was ready and waiting, all of the kids looked freshly scrubbed, and I was asked my beverage order the moment I sat down (at the biggest kitchen table I had ever seen).  I wonder how many bribes he had to make in order to pull all this off?  The look on a kid's face when he's complying because he's been threatened within an inch of his life to be on his best behavior is pretty much universal.  Multiply that by about 10 pairs of big, kid eyes, and it becomes fairly obvious that one is being watched. ;)  

But I'm no dummy.  I made it a point to memorize all of Eric's siblings' names & ages (if there's one thing I learned in "teacher school," it's that knowing a kid's name on day one is the key to his heart).  After dinner, the rest of the family went for a walk around the park, leaving Eric and me at home to talk by ourselves, the first time we had done so in person since the bank morning.  The familiarity returned instantly, and truthfully, if he had asked me to marry him that night, I know I would have said yes... I would have never lived in down with the folks, so it probably turned out for the best, but you know.  For what it's worth, Eric has told me that after that first dinner date at his parents',  he was also certain that I would be his wife.  Romantic, isn't it?!

From that day on, Eric and I were inseparable.  We spent every free moment together-- going for walks, ordering pizza, playing with the dog (who Eric actually liked, miraculously), just normal, everyday stuff.  Coincidentally, my dad actually remembered Eric from the bank, and for a man of few words, "Yeah, he's a nice guy!" was more positive feedback than I expected when my dad was told that we were "talking."  Needless to say, Eric survived all of the introductions where my family was concerned; in fact, in another bizarre turn of events, he actually met a large portion of my extended family at a hospital when a cousin of mine delivered her son prematurely via C-Section.  No pressure there, though ;)

And I seemed to fit in nicely with Eric's super-sized family, too.  Having grown up with just one sister (and only one aunt, one uncle, and one first cousin), I throughly enjoyed the mayhem associated with kids... upon kids... upon kids.  Looking back, Eric's mom had to have thought I was a odd one-- happy to just to sit and observe the interworkings of a biggie-sized family.  The "Cave cave," was (and still is) one of my favorite places to spend an afternoon.  But although I felt comfortable for the most part, occasionally, something would creep up and catch me off guard... Like the time I reached under the recliner I was sitting in to grab a fallen crayon, only to discover a myriad of other fascinating trinkets, one of which was an uneaten, but partially unwrapped McDonald's cheeseburger.  We've all heard the legends-- about how you can leave a burger from the Golden Arches out for days, weeks, even years at a time and it won't mold or decay.  Well, from the looks of things, I'd be inclined to agree with that theory.  But how do you, as a guest in a new boyfriend's home, gracefully whip out a burger from underneath a Lazy Boy without embarrassing the heck out of his mother?  So once again, I did what anyone else would... I left it there... and for all I know it's still there, and without consulting Myth Busters, I'm guessing it's probably completely in-tact, to boot.

It didn't take long (in all seriousness, probably 2 or 3 weeks tops) for the topic of wedding bells to surface.  I'm not one for surprises.  In fact, I usually find a way to stick my foot in my mouth and ruin most surprises I've been let in on.  But especially when it comes to expensive jewelry I'll wear for the rest of my life, there was no way I was leaving anything up to chance.  I know, I know, such a spoil sport, huh?  Eric and I made just one trip to the jewelry store to look at engagement rings (if you think I'm a dud when it comes to a good surprise, you should see my taste in diamond rings.  You say "boring;" I say "classic.")  In accordance with Eric's idea of the perfect proposal, I showed him a few simple, solitaire rings I liked, and I'd leave it up to him to make a final decision the right one, which I wouldn't get a gander at until he popped the question.  In hindsight, I think Eric's terms of conditions were less about crafting the perfect ring and the perfect proposal and more about forcing me to give up a little bit of control... but I have no idea why he'd feel like he needed to do that. ;) Unbeknownst to me, Eric coordinated a trip back to the ring store with my mom, who nearly came from the womb a certified jeweler, and his mom, whose taste in jewelry is pretty similar to my own.  Eric also did the classy thing in asking my dad for permission in moving forward, and my dad, being a reasonable man (and a fan of Eric), gave his blessing... but not without first showing Eric his safe full of guns ;)

From that point on, all I could do was wait.... and since this post is already getting rather lengthy (and the fact that my child is dismantling everything on the bookshelf), it looks like you're going to have to wait, too ;)

** If I haven't completely lost your attention yet, I'll post our engagement story and wedding planning details in a third and final blog... hopefully later this week.  :)