Wilder by Far

A look at life with the Wilder family. Updated most weekends and some vacation days. You can contact me at movingnorth@gmail.com..

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Sunday, March 16, 2008

"Anniversary party!" - Lovey, Gilligan's Island


A tiny version of The Boy is hoping the Easter eggs explode in the pretty colors. Dang. They just turned colors.

It’s nearly (less 24 hours, or so) eleven years since I met The Mrs. That’s like 132 metric years.

How on earth did we meet? That’s a story I’m not sure I’ve shared. If I have, it was probably so boring that you forgot. So, to quote Blazing Saddles, “Excuse me while I whip this out.”

I was downstairs in my basement, WilderBunker East. I was on a generic Wal-Mart® copy of a Stairmaster™ (I think I paid $69.89), sweating to the music of the local radio station. I had been doing this for months, and one of the stations seemed to think that Bob Frigging Seger was the reincarnation of the Beatles, and, hence, played him every hour.

I used to like Bob Seger. “Old Time Rock n’ Roll”, “Turn the Page”, etc. Loved his stuff. Now, after months of constant exposure, listening to him again and again I began to fantasize about gathering up every copy of every Bob Seger song and burning it in a huge bonfire. I would roast marshmallows. I would imagine Bob on the fire. Mmmm, that’s nice.

In order to assuage the part of me that wanted to see Bob ripped apart limb-by-limb by four drunken Hell’s Angels members on really big Harleys, I switched radio stations. I know that sounds extreme, but I was at wit’s end.

The new station I chose played newer music, and, thankfully, music that was entirely Bob Seger-Free. I breathed a sigh of relief. Frankly, I started to like some of this music.

So, one night I was listening to my newfound radio station, and the DJ comes on with a frivolously easy question about Heisenberg’s association with quantum mechanics. Uncertain, I picked up the phone. I pushed the stations numbers into the handset, and, busy. Tried redial, still busy.

Darn, that Heisenberg question was easy. Someone surely got it, no?

No. The DJ came back on, said, “We still don’t have a winner, so call now.”

I hit redial. I answered the question, and the DJ said, “Hang on a minute, let me get this song started.” She did. We chatted for a few more minutes. I was entranced. She was smart, funny, and neat. I listened to the rest of her shift, and not to listen to the music. I had a crush on her.

I went to work the next day. I was in a mid-size city (million or so) and mentioned to one of my friends that I had a crush on the DJ. Her thoughts? “She’s not dating anyone. You can meet on St. Patrick’s day.” The odds on that? Well, pretty good considering that (although I had no idea of this) my friend was dating the afternoon DJ. Funny how that works.

So, I listened even more intently before our date. Drove by the radio station a few times. Left a dead cat on her doorstep. Installed a camera in her shower. Some might call that stalking. Me? I call it courting.

Anyhow, (really) I hadn’t seen her before we met. When you hear someone’s voice on a radio station, you have no idea what they look like. From The Mrs. standpoint, I’m sure it was even worse. The guy might be a stalker.

We were introduced by our mutual friend. The (soon to be) Mrs. told me her name was a different one than the one she used on the air.

I asked why. She shrugged, “Stalkers, you know.”

“Funny, my friends told me not to bring that subject up on the first date.”

Anyhow, we sat and talked, consumed minimal quantities of beer, and then were told we had to leave. Everyone around us had left. We had been sitting together for four hours, and it had seemed like ten minutes.

I walked her to her car. We had showed up hours apart, but yet hers was parked right next to mine, each complete with a dent on the same side.

I kissed her and knew right then we’d be married. Her? Not so much, but she was interested in a second date. And a third. And then? We rarely spent a moment when we could be together apart.

I suppose The Mrs. has had 11 years to get to know me, and, according to her, I have at least a 15 year contract (when Pugsley was born The Mrs. indicated I had a five year extension). That works. I’ve got a decade and a half before I have to bring my ‘A’ game again.
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4 Comments:

Blogger Jeffro said...

Congrats, you crazy kids!

It is a pleasure to read about a couple that gets along as well as you two do. Please carry on!

8:08 PM  
Anonymous CWH said...

I hate to say it, but if I remember my ancient history, I think I worked with the Mrs. X boyfriend just prior to you (Mr. corey). The good news is that he was cool as well, so the Mrs. must have a knack for picking them. And you, just very lucky.....

Better keep practicing for the A game in any case, and bring donuts, they never hurt.

8:25 PM  
Blogger John said...

jeffro,
Thank you, sir! We do carry on. Or at least The Mrs. says I do.

cwh,
I did meet him once. Not nearly as cool as me. Me? Very lucky.

Ohhhhh, donuts.

9:31 PM  
Blogger Aaron the Truck Driver said...

You knucklehead. The answer was.. "The Man With Two Brains!"

And you were the trumpet player for billy holiday. Who opened for Bob Segar.

During the concert you sang the the "Im picking out a thermos for you" song. And she married you the next day.

I could be wrong here, the story seems to change year by year!

6:58 AM  

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