I Love a Good Story

I met my fiancé Pat, in Marketing class my sophomore year of college. By met I mean I have a blurry, probably pain killer induced (don’t worry I broke my collar bone so I needed it) vision of hair poking through the holes of a disgusting Celtics jersey. I had no idea who Pat was, but I guess he had noticed me.

After going through a whole class together, Pat waited till that summer to get drunk in the afternoon, and be driven to a local grocery store. His friends told him he should probably wait in the car. From that car Pat yelled, “Hey Maddy, Marketing!”

I told my friend to go inside without me but to come back out soon. We talked and I could tell we obviously had had class together but I couldn’t remember his name or anything else about him, he wasn’t wearing his Celtics jersey. He was hilarious and sweet but when he asked for my number I though No Way.

I gave him a fake number. I’m an awful girl. Girls don’t do this, just be honest, or get the guy’s number instead, that way if you change your mind the ball is in your court. I was a bitch. Not only did I give him a fake number, I gave him a rejection hotline number.

Thankfully, he lost it. This happens a lot.

2 months latter we met at a laundry mat. He was not drunk and banished to the parking lot by his friends, but he was sweet and funny and wanted to send me some stories he had written. I just kept thinking, why isn’t he mad at me? He should be pissed. Did he not call me? Why didn’t he call the fake number?

My interest was piqued. Also it was borderline entrapment to meet at a laundry mat. Here I am thinking what a clean, dependable sort of man, when that was the only time that summer Pat had gone to a laundry mat. He continues to be dependable but cleanly, not so much.

We exchanged numbers again and this time he memorized mine, which is good because by the next week he had lost his phone and would call me from pay phones. I told you this happens a lot.

Sometimes I find it hard to believe I’m engaged.