My husband is a very private person. He hates the Internet and the massive invasion of privacy that comes with it. So when I started writing this journal I promised him it would be about me, not him. I promised him I would mention him as little as possible. I've held true to that promise, even going so far as never to have given him a name. I've always referred to him as "my husband". Now that I'm to the point in my "Kiss and Tell" series where he came into my life, I'm going to have to cross that line. But I pledge to do it gently and with the utmost respect.
When Kitty came home for Spring Break, 1992 she asked me to come to her house one evening. Her brother, "G" was there. After three uneventful meetings over the last several months, this would be the night we would finally hit it off. We flirted all evening, building each other pretzels with squirty cheese elaborately sprayed on them, drinking beer and playing some game. When I got ready to leave, G walked me to my car. As I was getting inside I said "So, are you ever going to ask me out?" to which he replied "I was thinking about next Saturday".
It's no wonder I fell in love with G. At three years my junior, he was young, romantic and light hearted. I thought he looked like Steve Perry. He wrote me love letters, and he wrote the most beautiful poetry and songs you can imagine. Every time I saw him he would hand me some little paper on which he'd scratched out something deep and wonderful that melted my heart. I'd never met anyone that creative or talented, who wrote with so much passion. He didn't have much money at the time but he made up for it with his heart and abundant love. G would say the sweetest, most romantic things to me. He treated me like a china doll; a gift that was precious and cherished. I'd never met anyone who seemed so happy to be with me, who seemed so determined to be a devoted, loving partner. With everything in my being I felt I needed to grab hold of him and never let go.
G and I rarely watched television in those days. We listened to music most of the time. One night we listened to Pink Floyd's "The Wall" and spent hours talking about the meaning behind it. We laid in the floor one rainy day playing Beatles songs and trying to decide which Lennon/McCartney songs were written by John, and which ones were written by Paul.
We found a little Mexican restaurant that we loved and we went there every Friday night. We went to concerts, and we traveled. Trips to Chicago, the Cayman Islands, San Diego. G and I had radically different upbringings. I had older, very conservative parents, and G was raised by a much younger, very Liberal mother. Of course this was all very intriguing to me and from early on G and I were opposites who attracted. In those early days we had so much fun. I think back on those days now, and while I'm sad that life decided those uncomplicated, romantic, carefree, no-responsibility days had to eventually come to an end, I'm very thankful that we had them.
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