I met my husband Kevin on a Saturday night and Sunday passed in a hangover induced haze. On Monday, they once again expected my presence at work at the International Paper Company for a reason beyond my imagination. Of course, the first thing I did when I got there was huddle with my friends and try to decide if Kevin would call me or if, him being so incredibly wasted and all, I should call him. After our group discussion we decided to wait until Wednesday and if I hadn’t heard from him by then, I would call.
Well, Kevin did call and asked if I remembered him (duh?) and if I would like to go out sometime. We agreed on Saturday night. It turned out that Kevin lived on the Jersey Shore (no, not one of THOSE JERSEY SHORE TYPES) and he was going to drive up to the City for our date.
That Saturday a few friends and I went to the beach in Long Island so I could work on getting a serious sun tan. We’d decided that I should take Kevin to a restaurant called “Bayamo,” a Cuban-Chinese restaurant in the East Village. So, tan and ready I mentally reviewed the important advice I’d received earlier in the day: “whatever you do Lynn, don’t talk to much!” (from my office-mate and pseudo mentor Mary) “Lynn, do not, and I repeat do NOT, be yourself or you’ll scare the shit out of him,” (from my good friend, Tom). Armed with this advice, I waited for Kevin to ring the bell.
I was living on the sixth floor of an apartment in Soho. There was no buzzer-up system so when my friends showed up, I usually just dropped my keys out the window to them and they let themselves in. Kevin, however was late and I didn’t know him so by the time he showed up I was a nervous wreck, especially in lieu of the advice I had received regarding my behaviour. He was late and by the time he finally buzzed, I rushed to the elevator, and after waiting for what felt like an eon, I couldn’t take it any more and just ran down six flights of stairs.
I was huffing and puffing by the time I got to the front door and HOLY SHIT! It was fucking Paul Bunyan at the door. The guy was crazy tall! WTF? I almost had a heart attack and started chattering away. You see, when I first met him, we were standing on a staircase and I was above him most of the evening so we were at eye level. He was 6’5” tall and I’m only 5”5’.
We go upstairs, get all my stuff and start walking to the restaurant. The restaurant was about a mile away from my place (it’s Manhattan people. Everyone walks.) We had to walk through Washington Square in Greenwich Village to get there. I was still pretty wound up and was talking … and talking … and talking … and I say to Kevin, “am I talking too much … because I was told not to talk too much, so am I? Huh, what do you say?” Kevin was stunned speechless and had barely said a word at this point. Then I started hopping up on park benches, walking backwards on them, jumping down and then jumping on the next one. I was completely wired and Kevin looked like he was going to need some serious drugs to make it through the evening. To listen to him describe it now is hilarious..
We get to Bayamo, sit down and order a beer. I have no idea what we ate but Kevin ordered us a third round and I told him that no, I couldn’t possibly have another beer. He asked why not and I explained that if I got trashed, I would possibly sleep with him and I needed to have “moral fortitude”. He was like “WHAT?” So I explained that the only way I could continue to drink was if he promised to help me hold on to my “moral fortitude” for the rest of the evening. He agreed and we actually shook on it.
Fast forward many, many beers, a bar called The Bebop and we end up at a dance club called Heartbreak. There we run into my brother, no longer scowling from last week, and he asks me how it’s going. I reply “I think I’m in love”. He says “Really?” and I reply “Either that or I’m really, really drunk!”
At any rate, we had had a great evening and don’t you know, the skies open up and it pours on our walk back to my apartment. We arrive home late and we’re soaking wet and I go change into shorts and a t-shirt but Kevin didn’t have any other clothes so he just stood there dripping and spent the next hour trying to convince me to let him spend the night and “wouldn’t it be great to hang out until Sunday and hang out together then too?” Here’s a recap of the conversation:
Kevin: “How about I spend the night”
Lynn: “I don’t think that’s a good idea”
Kevin: “Come on … it will be great!”
Lynn: “What about my moral fortitude?”
Lynn: “MY MORAL FORTITUDE!”
Kevin: “Were you serious?”
Lynn: “Of course I was serious”
Kevin: “But wouldn’t it be great to wake up and read the New York Times together?”
Lynn: “But, you SHOOK MY HAND”
With disbelief, and more than a little disappointment, Kevin finally recognized that there would be no “fooling around” going on that night. Believe me when I tell you that he was very convincing, but I prevailed. I was leaving on a business trip to Mobile, Alabama the next day so at around 4:00 in the morning I made the future father of my children drive back down to the Jersey Shore in the pouring rain. I feel kind of bad about it now but at the time … I didn’t know him from a hole in the wall.
So, that’s the story of our first date … what do ya think? Is he a keeper?