Going on 20, I was perfectly content being single. After all, I had been single for the entirety of my simple life.
I attended a private, Baptist college in Ohio where being single was met with gasps, pitied looks, and “oh, God will send him someday”s. Frankly, I couldn’t care less. I had an Ikea catalog that I had saved since I was 14, marked with all the awesome furniture I wanted for my dream apartment after college. If he never comes, I think I’ll be alright.
And I was. I mean, Ikea furniture. Enough said.
Cue future Mister.
A guy who barely left the house enough even to run into a girl started talking to this girl who avoided all contact with guys she found attractive. Mostly because this girl was commissioned by a friend to scope him out on (good ol’) AIM for her. And after a year of “scoping” — long talks about politics, doctrine, and life stories — this girl decided that guy was the one for her. And that guy agreed, even though she was a little weird.
The day we met in person opened with stress sweat. Hello, I was the girl who avoided all contact with guys she found attractive. What was I doing? I agreed to this? After a few mirror pep-talks, I resolved to embrace the inevitable awkward.
I could see him from miles away, all 6’4 and lanky. He waited for me next to his cousin’s van. Pretty sure he could see me, too, all 6’0 and lanky, but was playing it cool by obsessively licking a popsicle.
“(Shlurpity slurp) Yup.”
Once I guffawed attractively during Evan Almighty and gracefully spilled half my Taco Bell burrito on his car seat, I think even he knew we had something going on. We started dating the next week.
Six or so years, one conversion, and a wedding later, I still spill my food on his car seat and guffaw like a lady. And he still thinks I’m weird enough to keep around.
P.S.: My friend still talks to me, and our friendship is made sweeter by God’s grace in our lives.