How I Met Her Mother
I knew from the moment I met her that she was something special. I felt that connection that spark, that chemistry you feel when you know you’ve met a person that captures your interest. Being the cool, calculating and dare I say debonair man about town I made my play. There was no doubt in my mind that she would be bowled over by my charm and that the electricity we undoubtedly shared would play its part.
So it’ll come as no surprise to those who’ve read this far that I kissed her.
18 months later.
We were both at University doing media degrees and met at a ‘Scriptwriting Social.’ An event that was as oxymoronic as it sounds. Writers are not always the most social people in the world as we like darkened rooms where we can be introspective and think of incredibly witty comebacks to insults hurled at us from over a week ago.
I was a couple of years ahead of Jennie and had graduated, left the town in which we lived and come back by the time she invited me to her birthday party a year and a half later. I remember I wasn’t going to go but I’d had a run-in with one of my flatmates about some cheese. There was a loud exclamation of anger coming from the kitchen and all were summoned to the room for what could only be described as the first, and possibly only, demonstration of ‘Cheese ballistics.’
The kitchen table was laid out with a block of cheese in several pieces and 5 or 6 knives next to each section. It transpired that the victim only ever used one particular blade to cut his cheese. He demonstrated this. He then showed us a side of cheese which “as anyone can plainly see” had been cut with a different knife! He had taken all of the possible weapons and tested each one to see what had caused the fateful cut. It was the breadknife, in the kitchen but the questioned that remained was ‘who was the Colonel Mustard?’
There was a sea of bemused faces. Whatever response was expected it never came and the quieter everyone became the angrier the flatmate got. I burst into laughter at this and received a glare of pure hatred and an accusation that if I’d had a week and a dark room would’ve got a very pithy comeback.
Needless to say, I couldn’t cope with the tension and thought I’d go to the party. I scraped together enough change for a return ticket on the bus and went to stand in a loud room that was too well lit for my liking. However, a nice evening was had once someone turned the music down and some good chats were had. I went to speak to the birthday girl at the end of the evening and gave her a hug. She asked why I was going so soon (It was 11:05 pm almost the dead of night for me!) I told her that my last bus left at 10 past and, in an incredibly rare moment of finding the right words at the right time, that she should shut up and give me a kiss while she had the chance. She did. I missed the bus.
A few weeks later we got engaged and it’s been 16 years of somehow finding the right words, one child, 4 dogs, 6 fish and a lot of cheese. None of which, by the way, tasted as bad as the cheddar I stole that night.