Today marks the tenth anniversary of my marriage. It also marks the sixteenth anniversary of our first date.
Frustrated by or perhaps in celebration of (I don’t remember which and in truth, it was probably a bit of both) being single, our circle of friends decided that we’d arrange a night out. There were six of us if I remember correctly; an even split between boys and girls. Plans were made, a date was set. Friday, February the 23rd, 1996. We’d meet up at the cinema.
It didn’t happen that way. People dropped out, didn’t show up, cancelled. I’ve long suspected that everything was planned, that we were set up, but - of course - the resulting cinema trip had only two attendees: me, and my future wife. The film we watched was the Robert Rodriguez indy action flick Desperado. Some couples have “their song”, we have “our film”.
Sparing no expense, we hit the nearby McDonalds for a post-movie coffee (classy, right?). I remember saying “people will talk, just the two of us, out like this. You know we’ll never hear the end of it.” Awkward pause. “Of course, there’s nothing for them to talk about…” I said.
“Maybe there is,” she said.
And that was it. Neither of us could have predicted the events of the years that followed.
At our wedding, my sister (our best man) said that she believed everyone had one person they were supposed to be with. I believe the chances of finding that person are slim. But I believe I was lucky enough to find her years ago, and she’s been a constant in my life ever since.