Windows are the eyes to the house.

I have a dear friend. She and her boyfriend decided to get married by the justice of the peace in February of 2007 for various personal reasons. Her parents were not present and they longed to see their youngest daughter married in a ceremony with a reception to follow. A “redo” wedding was planned in New England over Labor Day weekend.

My dear friend requested a bachelorette party in August. Well, she demanded it. She’s a very demanding person. You’d think that would be a negative attribute but it’s one of my favorite parts of her personality. She’s gutsy and knows what she wants and I love her.

So she got a bachelorette party. The one concession: we invited her husband and his friends since, as I calmly explained, “bitch, you’ve been married for six months. That ship has sailed.”

Out we went, in our best “going out” outfits, dragging satchels filled with penis straws, beads, pins, and hats. An atomically correct inflatable animal named Bessie the Love Pig also made the trip. We claimed our reserved table at the bar and waited for everyone else to arrive.

This is Bessie, humping my roommate’s cat.

A group of his friends showed up all at once. I noted that one friend was tall, dark haired, and oh so cute.

For hours my friend and I drank everything and left our heart out on the dance floor. Eventually, emboldened by alcohol and consumed with curiosity, I asked my friend about the tall boy. This is an actual transcription of our conversation. It shows that though you may think you leave eighth grade behind, interactions between boys and girls in their twenties remains the same.

Me: “Do you know if that tall guy has a girlfriend? He’s cute.”

My dear friend: “I don’t know but I’m gonna find out!”

She staggers back to the table. I turn my back so I won’t see their interaction, won’t see if he is not into me.

My dear friend: “He’s single! And he said you were pretty!”

Well, that’s reason enough to have a conversation with a cute boy at a bar. I casually made my way over to him. It felt like this conversation had been inevitable from the moment we first met. He was sweet and kind and tried to have a full conversation with me in a loud bar where you could only make out every third word at best.

We danced a little by ourselves; we were groped by my dear friend who swung a leg up over both of us, making him the man meat of a lady sandwich. It was the best time. The chemistry was delicious and surprising.

Bessie getting her drink on at the bar

Our group stayed until last call. When the lights came up I realized that my cute boy was nowhere to be found. Bummed, I calmly started to gather up my friend for the cab ride home. Another actual conversation that transpired:

My dear friend: “Did he get your number?”

Me: “No. I’m not sure where he went.”

My dear friend: “Oh hell no.”

She disappeared for a few minutes and then reappeared, pulling him along by his arm. She shoved him towards me and we awkwardly made our way outside. He took my number but I believed at the time it was under duress.

The next day, hung over, I lamented to my dear friend as we lounged next to our apartment complex pool. He won’t call. You made him get my number. He didn’t want to.

He called at 6:30pm that evening. We went on our first date two days later.

We married in the fall of 2011. Life continues on, together.