Beer saves another hopeless romantic.
The following was originally published in a magazine called Argus. (Check the magazine out at www.argusonline.com.au). The theme of the magazine for the issue was ‘Decisive Moments’. While this article seems to portray something that is anything but decisive, it does actually resolve itself quite nicely. Suffice to say, my beautiful wife was pleasantly surprised when she read it, as I had never told her just how long I’d been a mess around her. I’m still a mess, but at least she loves me. It also partly answers a couple of different questions I’ve been asked about how I met my wife. I hope everyone enjoys it.
Throughout my life, I considered myself to be shy, especially around women and particularly around women I felt some attraction towards. She was particularly attractive and captivating. Every time I saw her, my vocabulary was reduced to that of a 2 year old, complete with dribble. It didn’t matter that I might have been with a girlfriend or a bunch of friends or by myself. The mere presence of her reduced me to a mess.
I remember one time when she visited a house I was sharing with my girlfriend of the time. My best friend, who happened to be very close to her as well, accompanied her. They went to school together, hung out a lot, had close mutual friends and caught up regularly. My best friend kept me up-to-date on what she was doing, whom she was dating and where she was living. The funny thing was when ever we saw each other, either she or I were in a relationship with someone else. My girlfriend saw and pointed out the obvious attraction that existed between us. Of course, I denied it. About twelve months later, I was single again.
Sometime after, my best friend, being the organiser that he is, cajoled me into going to an all-day music festival with him. I got my ticket, met my friend at the allocated time and place and away we went. We got great seats in the stadium and settled down for a day of music and mayhem. She turned up as well. Again, the same old silly palpitations occurred, the same daggy shyness enveloped me and I sank down in my seat, acknowledging her only with a vague smile. Thankfully, beer saved the day. After a couple, we started talking and I mean really talking. We talked all day and into the night. We laughed and sang and danced. In short, we had a wonderful day together. I didn’t want it to end and I was pretty sure she didn’t either.
I made a promise, like I’d made a hundred times before, to call her and we’d go and do something together. She, like always, said it would be great. I went home and spent two weeks thinking about her. Finally, one afternoon, having been given a couple of free tickets to see a band, I decided to call her and ask her if she would like to come with me. I was still a mess on the phone, but she said yes anyway.
Seven months later we were married on her favourite beach. And I have never regretted a single second I spent waiting to get up the courage to ask her out, even if it took me 20 years.