Tuesday, May 19, 2009

How We Met: Friends Really Do Make GREAT Lovers

Mr. CB and I met randomly in Athens, GA in 2002 . We were both out and about downtown hanging with our friends. Just so happened that one of his friends is just a bit of a show-off and my bestfriend (prior to hubby) is the same. We attended rival colleges for undergrad, and are apart of a brother/sister fraternity/sorority. So this night that the loud mouths run into one another, I noticed him instantly, but was rather shy. He also says the same of me. His friend, on the other hand, was not shy at all and asked for my number. Even though I wasn't interested, I gave it to him anyway. This friend would call and ask me out, but I would never go. Of course Mr. CB, being a good friend of this guy, had to hear about it. Finally, Mr. CB gathered enough nerve to ask me out. Of course, I said yes. Because we were both rather timid people, we ended up being friends.

Fast forward five years. After a rather nice friendship - we could talk to one another about ANYTHING (inclusive of others that we dated) - we went shopping for his birthday. He was throwing a lavish bash at a popular Atlanta night club and wanted to look like the "birthday boy." He invited me along, and I was happy to go. At this point, I had completed my research, defended my dissertation and graduated; so, many of the distractions that I previously had were gone. Little did I know that a shopping trip would change my life. Because this wasn't a "date" , things just kinda flowed naturally. I went along sans my usual makeup and pumps (can you guess which sorority I belong to?), and he dressed down as well. I have NEVER had so much fun on a non-date in my life. We left around noon and didn't return until after midnite. The turning point in our relationship happened on the ride home. He touched my knee. It wasn't anything mannish, but at this point I knew. I knew that the man of my dreams had been under my nose all along. When he touched my knee then (and even now), I got butterflies in my stomach. The rest, my dears, is history...