I consider myself pretty savvy with directions and finding my location but looking for a house in a cookie cutter subdivision that GPS has uploaded yet, I may met my match. I swear it felt like I was in an alternate universe. A universe of duplicates and sick jokes. I hung in there, made a few more wrong turns, admitted defeat and called him. His first words were, “How are you not hear yet?!”. My reply, “funny you should ask. Your subdivision has taken me captive and I am afraid I will not be able to show you my unbeatable Mario Kart skills.”
He gives me directions that make me question all my navigation skills and what do you know, I find his house. My first thought was, “He is never allowed at my place.” My place is a small apartment in a not so great complex. Don’t judge me. Life is expensive and money is hard to make. He walks outside to ensure I have indeed found his adorable humble abode. There was a slight flutter in my stomach. Butterflies? Gas? Hungry? With my history with men, it better be gas.
I get out of the car and and head towards the walk way. I round the corner and he’s standing at the front door. Ok, he is good looking. I can openly admit that now. The inner thought is instantly, “Please God, let him be a good guy. He welcomes me in and I think, “He is definitely never coming to my place.” Its one of those moments where you realize you only thought you were adulting. Only to find out, you were indeed failing at adulting. I am snapped from the beginnings of a very sad reality check by a, “You want a beer?”
Yes, yes I would love a beer.”. See, I am what most would consider awkward but I have had to learn to lock that up and function to get through life. I am the definition of fake it til you make it. I remove my shoes at the door and make my way to the island in the kitchen and the safety of a barstool. I get settled and we start to conversate.
It isn’t long before I notice that he has Shinedown playing. Ok, I don’t want to sound presumptuous but I am pretty sure I am going to marry this man. He gets in the fridge and pulls out an ice cold Busch light. He cracks it open and slides it across the bar to me. I grab it and take a swig. Did I mention I hate the taste of beer? The visceral reaction is to spit it out as soon as possible. We’ll, I can’t do that and look cool. And I need this liquid courage to get me through this afternoon and possibly evening.
We spend and hour and five beers, two for me and three for him, talking about the usual things. Life, exes (don’t judge, there is no time to waste when dating at our age) kids, work, goals, hobbies. That starts to slow down so we decide now is the best time to play Mario Kart. Let the games begin. You can hear the sound of a Mario Kart game starting, can’t you?
How Did I Get Here? 