Daveo and Bethiet

Way back in the nineties, I was teaching school, going to aerobic classes, watching Friends, ER, and Mad About You, enjoying my nightly Lean Cuisines,  rocking my Rachel haircut and big shoulder-padded blazers, and whining to my friend Kim M. (Hi Kim!) about how there were no good guys left.  I had just come off of a big break-up with a long time boyfriend, had a few bad dates, had my lasagna plate stolen, and I really thought I just might be single forever.  At least my cats would be happy.

But Kim M. said she knew someone she could set me up with, a friend of her husband’s.  According to her, his name was Dave, he had very good manners, and he worked out and therefore had a really good, muscular physique.  I pictured a big, dumb, polite muscle guy, but I was desperate, so I agreed to a blind date, if Hulk Hogan was willing.  He called me a couple of weeks later, and he was very well mannered and nice, and the conversation went along easily enough.  Unfortunately, I found out two things on that phone call:  he was allergic to cats and he was Catholic.  I just knew it wasn’t going to work, because I liked my cats, and I liked my church and I knew how those Catholics liked to stick together, but when he asked if I wanted to go out, I said yes anyway.  

His plan was to have me come meet him at his house, which was about a 30 minute drive away, where we would go to dinner and then out to a club where a band was playing that he liked.  I was not crazy about having to drive to him or about seeing a band on a first date, but whatever.  One less Lean Cuisine to heat up.

Two days before the big date, he called to ask if I’d mind changing the venue to a restaurant near me, which I thought was a much better idea. (He told me later, he was afraid he wouldn’t like me and then he’d be stuck with me all night and he’d wanted more control over how the evening ended.  Hmph.  Good thing I didn’t know that then.)

The night of the date, I sat in an upstairs room in the dark so I could look out of my window at him for a sneak peek.  All I saw as he got out of his car and walked to my door was his forearms.  Can I tell you, I am just a sucker for forearms.  I like big, strong, capable looking arms, and his?  Were niiiiiiiice.  He rang the bell, I headed down the stairs and opened the door, and there he was, forearms like Popeye, and very cute, and nice and, yes…well-mannered.

The date went well.  We talked over dinner and liked each other enough that we decided to head out afterwards for a drink to keep the conversation going.  He drove me home and kissed me in the car (and it was a bad first kiss, but it was all my stupid, nervous fault, he still brings it up and laughs at me today about it, which is not very polite) and we said goodbye and he told me he’d call me.  And he did. 

And then we dated for a year, and then broke up for a year, and then he tried to get me to go out with him again, but I held him off for about three months, because I wanted to know he wasn’t just interested in hanging out.  We finally got back together and dated for 8 more months and then we got engaged and eventually married.  Yada yada yada, 3 kids and a guinea pig later and today is our 13th anniversary! 

Many, many, many thanks to Kim M. who had the foresight to see us as a couple (or was just tired of hearing me whine.  Either way).  And Happy Anniversary to my best friend.  Sorry for getting a little publicly mushy, honey.

(I tried without success 13 years ago to get him a sleeveless tux, but strangely, none were available, in fact the tux guys acted like this was the first time they’d had ever heard of such a thing…otherwise I’d totally be having you check out his forearms right now).

P.S.  Dave tried living with the cats and just sniffled and sneezed a lot, but I found new homes for them when Maddie was born. It seemed like a good time to focus on the baby and give Dave’s nose a break at the same time.  Also…I became Catholic, and it is true…we do stick together.  But in a nice way.