Boy Meets Girl Part III

For those of you new to my blog, you may want to start with "Boy Meets Girl" Parts I and II before you read this post.  Or do what you want.  I'll never know. :)

It didn't take long before I had gotten wind that Eric sat down with my dad for the "May I Marry Your Daughter?" talk (read: my mom was excited and spilled the beans), so I pretty much thought we were done jumping hurdles and could move on to bigger and better things-- like picking out wedding invitations (which was, by far, my favorite part of the whole wedding-planning process;  what can I say, I'm a sucker for paper products).

I don't know about you, but it seems like every so often, life has a way of sneaking up and surprising me with a "Not so fast, missy!" type moment... probably to keep me humble... but maybe just to pick on me for fun (I'm channeling that inner 7th grader again, can you tell?).  Eric's father must have also gotten wind of Eric's big talk with my dad.  Let me say up front that I absolutely, positively adore my father-in-law.  He has to be one of the more intelligent people I've come across in my lifetime... and if the artsy-fartsy liberal arts hipsters I went to college with could weigh in, I've met some real smarty-pants peeps ;)  Anyway, any man with eleven children who doesn't leave the house running, screaming and flailing his arms every morning earns some major street cred in my book.  Where I'm intimidated to confront anything larger than a dust mite, I'm convinced that Eric's dad actually thrives on blind-siding unassuming friends, family, innocent victims shoppers in the supermarket with questions appropriate for at least a 200-level philosophy course.  Personally, I like that about him; he keeps you on your toes.  And further, my father-in-law has a remarkable way of making truly deserving individuals feel like real morons without saying much at all, which if you're on the spectator side of things, is actually quite entertaining.  Oh yes, and did I mention that he's a Baptist preacher?  You get the gist.  He's a great guy, and he did a phenomenal job raising Eric.  But I'd be a liar to say he doesn't scare the pants off me from time to time.  ;)

But anyway, Eric and I had joined his family for dinner one night, and like usual, we retired afterward to the living room to watch the children make a Hot Wheels village out of empty toilet paper rolls and these annoying little battery-operated creatures called Zhu Zhu pets.  I can't exaggerate enough just how slowly my introverted brain processes information, so when Eric's dad began peppering me with questions about everything from my thoughts on education reform (p.s. they homeschool) ... to our plans for children (p.p.s. remember, there are eleven of them.)... to my stance on abortion (p.p.p.s did I mention that there are eleven of them???), I was a wee tongue-tied.  At one point, I seriously considered asking him to write down the laundry list of bullet points he planned to address and email it to me-- that I'd happily and thoroughly provide written responses he could read on his own time... when I was out of his house... or better yet, out of the country.  Mind, you all of this was taking place in front of the gaggle of children, so you can imagine the sea of egg shells that suddenly appeared before me.  If spontaneous combustion is, in fact, a true physiological and scientific phenomenon, there wouldn't have been a better time for it.

I honestly don't remember how I answered any of my father-in-law's detailed questions, except to say that I felt like a complete, bumbling idiot by the time Eric and I left that evening.  "If I never hear from you again, I'll totally understand" were my new boyfriend's exact words.  It was reassuring to know that Eric's dad had spread the thick layer of awkwardness equally among the two of us.  "He's like that with every guy or girl one of his kids brings home."  Once again, it was nice to know that I wasn't the only one who had wound up in the hot seat.  But where Eric should have just shut up, grabbed my hand, and walked me to the car, he continued... "I figured he'd grill eventually, but I didn't want you to worry about it ahead of time."  Wait a second.  This was expected behavior?  Instead of providing me the opportunity to arm myself with textbooks, a dictionary, and a Power Point, you hung me out to dry?!?!  Honestly, Eric looked so pathetic and humiliated that night, there was no way I could be angry, let alone dump him (although looking back, a few threats could have won me a few nice pieces of jewelry.  Oh well).  Instead, I just told Eric to let me know if I made the cut ;)  I don't know that he's ever gotten back to me on that... which does make me wonder a tad bit, come to think of it.....

In all fairness, I'm 100% sure the Caves have accepted me into the fold with open arms. I have, however, kindly requested that whenever the younger Cave-lettes start bringing home boyfriends and girlfriends, I be allowed to sit in on the interrogation sessions (with a big bowl of buttery popcorn).  Since I'm fairly proficient at nagging dropping hints, I imagine I'll get my way.  Stay tuned for that post.

By the time October rolled around (we had known each other about 2 months), I was full-swing into my second year of teaching, and Eric was busy with work and school.  So by the time a Saturday rolled around in which I didn't have a mound of papers to grade and Eric didn't have some sort of vague group project to attend to, we tried to make a fun day of it.  On this particular Saturday, Eric asked if I'd be interested in going out for dinner.  I absolutely hate cooking, so I can't imagine ever turning down a dinner date offer.  Even if Sponge Bob Square pants himself, undoubtedly the galaxy's most obnoxious cartoon creature, asked me out to the Krusty Krab, I know I'd go, just to get out of having to fix anything.  So needless to say, I responded to Eric's date idea with a resounding, "YES!"  Eric wouldn't give me many details, but he did suggest dressing up a bit (which is code for something other than my teacher khakis in every hue and my Target-special cardigan sweaters... and believe it or not, I truly am 26, not 58).  It should be noted that of the two of us, Eric is, by far, the more romantic.  In fact, compare me to any living organism, reptiles included, I'm sure I'd always come out the less romantic one.  Want to wine and dine me?  Make me a fried egg sandwich for breakfast or scrub the toilet once in awhile.  But not Eric.  He's always got something a little more creative up his sleeve.  So it wasn't at all unusual for him to plan a surprise dinner date.  Go ahead, ladies, be jealous ;)

By the time he picked me up, I was starting to get curious as to our destination, but Eric was being secretive about the whole thing, once again, not entirely atypical of him.  From the looks of where we were headed, I was expecting Nashville or Bloomington... but then he turned off on some obscure country road.  Where in the world are we going?  But Eric just kept driving, ignoring all of my questions or commentary.

If gas weren't so stinkin' expensive, I'd take a drive to the country every weekend.  I was raised 100% an in-town sort of gal, you know-- houses with fenced in yards, kids riding up and down the sidewalks on bikes and big wheels, neighborhood pitch-ins for the Fourth of July, the whole deal.  It was a good way to grow up, and in all likelihood, it's how our brood will grow up, too.  But there is something picturesque about country livin,' at least the idea of room to roam during the day and a clear sky for camp-outs at night.  I'm just not sure how I'd fare without the modern conveniences of Wal-Mart's deli mac & cheese less than ten minutes away.  Maybe if I could convince Eric to invest in a Taco Bell franchise, we could "git ourselves some land," as they say, and be set for life.  What more do you need when you've got a Crunch Wrap Supreme in one hand and a Diet Dew in the other???

So back to the story... It seemed like we'd been driving for a good half hour, and from my estimation, we were somewhere between Brown County and wherever Deliverance was filmed.  I was out of my element.  More accurately, I was out of my element when we turned off the highway.  I looked over to Eric, who was noticeably silent.....And that's when my mind started to wander...

How well do I really know this guy?  I mean, it's only been two months, and he seems sincere enough... but how can I really be sure he isn't living some double life with another girlfriend he met on EHarmony who lives in Oklahoma?  What if this whole romantic evening is some sort of ruse, and he's going tie me up, throw me into a black Hefty bag, and roll me over the hill????(Side note-- Do you know that I once signed up for EHarmony?  After filling out 7-8 hours of surveys, I was told that I was part of the 15% of the population who could not be matched.  Do you know how crushing that is???  To be desperate enough for a dating website, only to be told that you're un-matchable????  ).

"Hey, Eric?" I asked quietly.  "I'm afraid we're going to get lost out here, so why don't you at least tell me in what direction we're headed...." If he truly was a psychopath, I didn't want to rock the boat too hard, but I did need to come up with some sort of plan of escape....

"I know where I'm going, ok?"  Eric responded, clearly getting annoyed.  I could tell that he was starting to glance purposefully out the windows, as though he knew he was looking for a particular spot.  But all I saw were tree-lined hills and curves that were all beginning to look the same.  There's no way I could navigate my way out of here.

If he really is going to kill me, my parents should probably just go ahead and engrave "I told you so" on my headstone.  All those years of telling me what a naive, little princess I was, and what do I do? Fall in love with a serial killer and end up dead two months later.  This is just what I need.  Sara 0, Parents 20.  Game over.  No sooner did the thought materialize that Eric finally pulled off of the long, windy road we had been on for what seemed like hours.  But when we I lifted my eyes to see where Eric had parked, I was horrified to see that we were in a graveyard of all places.....  And that's when my mind hit the panic button--  I jumped out of the car, took off my heals, and made a break for it back down the road we had turned off of.  "Stop!" Eric shouted.  "Turn around!.... Please...."

And when I did, Eric had fallen to one knee and asked if I'd do him the honor of being his wife.  I get the sense that most women tear up the moment their knight in shining armor asks for their hand in marriage.  I cried, too, but probably for a different reason.... "I'm so glad you're not going to kill me!" is the first full sentence I could muster.  Romantic of me, don't you think?

We rolled out of the cemetery and on to dinner at the Story Inn, a wonderful little restaurant with a history of.... you guessed it.... hauntings :)  So it was no surprise to me that while we couldn't get cell phone reception to announce our big news to anyone else, I was able to briefly phone my grandma, the closest thing I know to a Sylvia Brown psychic medium.  Naturally, Eric and I left that evening on Cloud 9, thrilled to call our friends and families, who most certainly would share in our excitement... and the hilarity of our "unique" engagement story.  However, Eric did make sure to clarify that he never intended to pop the question in a graveyard, but that somebody's ranting and raving caused him to crack under pressure ;)  But for the life of me, I just can't quite figure out what he's talking about ;)

The next several months were dedicated to planning and shopping and organizing for the wedding, most of which my mother managed single-handedly, as details of party favors and appetizers were completely lost on me.  For the most part, I was just along for the ride.

Eric and I were married on June 19, 2010, less than one year after we met, on a hot and humid summer evening.  And looking back, it really is a remarkable, beautiful story, one I know I wouldn't have believed before I met Eric.  But even more so, I can't wait to hear the story I'll be telling 50 or 60 or 70 years from now... so long as Eric doesn't get a hold of any black Hefty bags between now and then ;)