The History Of Me

And they lived happily ever after.

My wife likes to take walks in the rain.  I can’t fucking stand that.  Something about being wet in non-swimming attire just drives me nuts.  We recently took the kids to Disneyland, and it seemed as if everyone loves the water rides.  They adore the rides that squirt water at you, drip on you, or just plain drop you into a massive pond of cold, wet water.  Afterwards, they get off the ride, dripping wet, hair soaked and seemingly uncomfortable, yet the lines are miles long to get on them.  I avoid these like the Plague, and my wife consistently teases me for not enjoying them.

I like video games.  I grew up with Mario, Link, and Samus, and love playing such modern gems as Guitar Hero or Half-Life 2.  The old ball and chain hates them.  She doesn’t understand the idea of mashing buttons and fake-shooting aliens and zombies.  Her hand eye coordination sucks, and she claims that the rotating screen and crazy graphics make her physically ill.  Another couple that we regularly hang out with loves to get together, have a few drinks, and waste the night away playing Wii games, and it’s amazing how my wife can go from the tipsy fun-loving party girl to the aggravated can-we-get-out-of-here-now wife, in mere moments after the power button is pressed.

I like KFC, she likes Boston Market.  I constantly require music to soundtrack my day, she looks forward to the listeners calling in and talking to the deejays.  I logically rationalize my way through problems, she throws a tantrum and stresses out.  I put my keys and wallet wherever I happen to be sitting and she has a certain place for every fucking thing she owns.  The list goes on and on.  We’ve been together for over half of out lives now, and we continually joke about how we don’t have a single thing in common.  The time of trying to change each other is long gone, and despite being polar opposite personality types and spending every moment we can together, neither one of us has made a single murder attempt on the other.

I knew that she was very different from me from the moment I met her.  Me, being a little reserved, and attempting to conform to the accepted standards of how people should act, was taken aback when this girl whom I’d never seen walked into my seventh period class, looked at me, and blurted out, “You have gorgeous eyes.” 

I was a shocked but managed to force out a quiet thank you.  She smiled, turned and sat at her desk.  My buddy, Jason, was quick to start teasing me.  Apparently, this girls comment was enough for him to suddenly realize that, he too, thought that my eyes were gorgeous.  Over the next couple weeks, this new girl was quick to gain a bit of notoriety amongst the students of Alamosa High.  Her proclaimed sexual endeavors were a consistent topic during seventh period study hall, and, to this day, I can’t believe that the teacher, Mr. Hall, I think, allowed an underage student of his class to openly discuss performing fellatio.  This particular subject matter ultimately led to my buddy Eric and I assigning her the nickname of “The Nibbler.”

I’m not exactly sure when and how I started communicating with her in a more productive manner, but when it did happen, I was completely infatuated.  We quickly began spending most of our free time together, in and out of school.  We talked on the phone regularly, and went to lunch together all of the time.  Our flourishing relationship moved rapidly and I found myself falling uncontrollably in love with her.  She, on the other hand, was happy to find a friend that she could spend time with.  What a bunch of bullshit.

I sat idly by as she rambled on about the guys that she thought were cute, the guys who she wanted to date, and the guys who she simply wanted to fuck.  I, unfortunately, wasn’t on any of these lists.  She confided in me about her past experiences and regrets, stories that evoked rage and jealousy in my smitten teenage mind.  I listened to her problems and secretly fantasized about the day when I could muster up the courage to make a move on her.  After many months of mental anguish on my part, a situation occurred at my house that resulted in me kissing her. 

She kissed me back momentarily and then, as if coming to the sudden realization of what was happening, suddenly stopped.  I felt the abrupt rigidness of her body, pulled away, and saw the wide open eyes of a startled seventeen year old girl.

“Why did you do that?”  she uttered.

I responded suavely with, “Uhhhh….uhhhh.”

“Why did you do that?”  She repeated, stepping away from me.  I tried to find the right answer, but came up short.  Before I could figure out what was going on, she had made her way out the door, into her car, and had driven off, leaving me standing in front of my house, confused and heartbroken.

I didn’t see her for a couple days after that, and when she finally did show up at school, we pretended that nothing had happened for the better part of the day.  She finally broke up the awkwardness by inquiring about my intentions, and the ensuing discussion resulted in us finally, officially becoming a bona fide couple.  She, to this day, busts my balls about being “sooooo, in love” with her, but, hey, it’s better than being a cold, heartless bitch who left her future husband standing forsaken on the front porch.  Am I right?