Isn't it Romantic?

This morning I stepped on the husband's punchline [no, that is not a euphemism, although I kind of would like it to be].

The joke doesn't matter [but in the interest of completion, he was talking about how it's weird that the girl is so interested in karate, since I'm non-violent and he's Mr. All American Sports guy, and I said, before he could, that it's her form of rebellion and better this than her being a Republican].

What does matter is that the husband said we'd been together for too long, since we were now finishing each other's jokes.

Yeah, but you could see that one coming a mile away.

It got me thinking, though, about how long we have been together [married 15 years next month, and together 4 years before that] and about how we met.

Have I told you this story before?  Eh, here it is again anyway:

Many, many years ago - o.k., 19 - I was living out of state and came back for a friend's wedding.  I stayed with my family and also in College Town.  While at my family's house, I got a phone call from a guy I had dated off and on about a year before, who told me that everyone was getting together to see a band we all liked at a dive-y bar in College Town.  So I went out to the bar to meet up with everyone [which, it turned out, the guy had set up so I'd go] and see the band.

And did I mention it was Dollar Pitcher Night?  Yes.  It was.

Well, the husband was also at the bar with a group of friends, some of whom we knew.  But he wasn't there necessarily to see the band.  Mostly he was there because it was Dollar Pitcher Night.

Now, I want to give you a visual here:

Me:  Shoulder length, crazy curly hair. Hadn't shaved my armpits or legs in about 4 years.  Tattoo on my bicep.  Nose ring. Black eyeliner.  Red lipstick. Wearing a black tank top and black skirt.  Smoking hot.

Husband: Backwards baseball cap.  Sports t-shirt.  Jeans.  Also smoking hot.

I saw the husband and it was all over for that other poor bastard.  I even remember asking a friend what she thought of the husband, which is not something I ever did.

Well, drinks were had, and we tried to talk, but neither of us could hear the other person.  Yet somehow, we knew we were right for each other.  Maybe it was because we both smoked.  Maybe it was because we couldn't hear each other. Probably it was because we were drunk.

The husband asked me to go home with him, and I did [PSA DO AS I SAY AND NOT AS I DO.  Also, this was a long time ago, you know, back in the dark ages, when it was safe to go home with someone whose name you couldn't quite hear.].  So we left the bar and headed toward . . .

A frat house.

I had left the bar with a frat boy.

It's still amazing to me that I didn't turn and run, but I had to pee and he had more beer, so I went.

And we lived happily ever after.