Lesson 6: Don't Mistake a Pacifier for a Preview

For as long as I can remember, I couldn't wait to get married. It seemed so appealing. Comfort. Stability. Companionship. All that jazz. Someone who loved you. And not like your parents who pretty much have to love you. Someone who was drawn to you, someone who chose you, someone who loved YOU. Now, I could bore you with my stories of high school strife, how I was told by the boy of my dreams/secret best friend, who I screwed around with in the back seat of his Suburban in the cemetery by my house, that I wasn't cool enough to go out with, or how I was repeatedly crushed by crushes, or how I was "too much to handle" according to my mom. But that is not the point. The point is MY man, the one who chose ME.

After dating...

RELATED TANGENT: People our age don't really date, do they? I mean, I was so shocked when Nathan actually asked me out on a date when he did. In college, people just kind of get drunk, hook up, and take it from there. That's fair to say, right? I guess there isn't really an appropriate term. We weren't really going out either. We didn't go anywhere. And that just sounds like third grade when Sally asks you if you like Mikey and you say yes and then she tells Mikey that you like him and he says he likes you back too so then you are going out. People for sure don't go steady anymore either. Nowadays, people are just "together." Works for me.

Anyhoo, after we were TOGETHER for six months, Nathan invited me to spend New Year's with him and his dad's side of the family in West Bend, Iowa. This involved a six hour drive with my one-day-to-be-in-laws, including his chatty seven-year-old sister in a Lincoln Towncar to a little farming town of about 500 people. I'm not gonna lie...I was ecstatic! Of course, it wasn't going to be the flashiest of events, but I could have cared less. I was just tickled he asked me and determined that it meant a few things:

1.) He couldn't bear to be without me for too long over Winter Break.

2.) He wanted me to get to know his family better.

3.) He wanted to show me off.

I went. It was fun. His family is great. Real good people. A thought on people from Iowa. I tell ya, during my years at UW, I thought people from Wisconsin were just about the nicest you'd run into in the U.S. of A. I was wrong. People from Iowa are so friendly; they guy at the grocery store check-out asks what your plans are for the weekend, the worker at KFC smiles the smile of Mother Teresa, and, following suit, his family just makes you feel welcome, included and part of the gang.

The best part of this trip occurred in a dim lit room at the local country club. (Yes, small towns do have a country club). The story went like this. His mom and dad and I were sitting at a table off to the side. The disco ball turned. The lights were turned down. Jams in the background. We were all a little over-served. We got on the topic of how Nathan and I didn't go to the bars as much anymore and he continued and expanded on the fact that there was no need for men to go out once they were in a serious relationship. Why? Isn't it obvious? They don't need to find some hot babe to get laid when they have their own right next to them that doesn't require too much boozing and schmoozing to score with. He dad nodded in agreement. His mom and I just kind of laughed and rolled our eyes. Yata yata yata, a bunch more talk, and I couldn't even tell you the context of the conversation, but all of the sudden, Nathan proclaimed that we were, and I quote, "Set in stone." His mom kind of raised her eyebrows...not so sure she knows I saw that...and his dad bluntly started jabbering that we had only been "together" six months and things change and we were still young and all this bummer stuff. It didn't matter. We weren't phased by the parental buzz kills. All I knew is that Nathan thought we were set in stone. I knew he loved me. He dropped the L-bomb in September. For some reason, being set in stone meant more. Think of how many people say "I love you" and they don't even realize they don't. I dropped the L-bomb all the time with the at-the-time-boyfriend. Turns out I really didn't love him. Nathan dropped the L-bomb, too. (I am sure they were all hideous beasts.) He didn't love them either. When you say those words and you really, truly, honestly believe it, it just feels different. Add some stone to that, and then you're really feelin' good! To make the night even more lame, we danced to Eric Clapton's "Wonderful Tonight" after that discussion.

That was when I knew he was it. He was the man who would be lucky enough to marry me.

As fate would have it (Nathan doesn't believe in fate...he is so dull and logical sometimes) we spent our one-year anniversary at a wedding. As our second Christmas "together" approached, we knew the time would soon arrive when he had to move to start chiropractic school in Davenport, Iowa. I was okay with it. I mean, sure I was sad. Mainly pissed that I was going to have to actually stay the house my parents paid rent for with nine other college girls (THAT my friends, could be a whole 'nother blog). Pissed that I wouldn't have sex as much. Pissed that we were going to be so far away. Truth, I was confident that we would be fine. I semi-planned to move there sooner or later only if I had a ring. I knew distance would be hard, but knowing we were set in stone make it simpler.

I knew his second Christmas gift would be good. For our first Christmas "together," which was right before he proclaimed the geological strength of our love, he gave me diamond earrings. What a gem. Him, and the diamonds, I suppose. For my birthday the following June, he took me to a...how would you say, fantasy hotel, for the night. So, on that second Christmas, we spent the day at his aunt's house. At night, we went back to his parents' place. (I spent a few days at his parents' over Winter Break.) He started a fire in the fireplace. Sat on a chair. I gave him my gift, a year's subscription to the Packer Report. (Do I know my man or what?) I was sitting on his lap. He reached into his book bag (still in college...when you brought a book bag everywhere), and pulled out a little box, about two by two, with a big bow on it. For a second, I thought this was IT. Shivers of happiness warmed my bod. As the joy ran rampant, it came to a screeching halt. "It's not what you think." Way to kill the mood, Asshole. It was close to what I thought. A promise ring. My second one. I had one from the at-the-time-boyfriend. (I really need to pawn that thing!) But this one came with an explanation. He put it on my hand and said, "I know you are worried about me leaving. This is just to show you I love you and always will..." something to that effect, at least. I was thrilled. I still wear it. On my right hand.

That was the first time I thought maybe he was going to do it. Propose, that is. There were a few more. Each time, I was convinced it was the perfect time. Sometimes because it would not seem obvious. Visits to Davenport, or while watching Conan, or while in the bathroom. Sometimes just because I had a "feeling." (Just like I used to get "feelings" that I was going to win the lottery in college, so I'd buy a ticket.) Yeah, those "feelings" have not proved to be accurate.

After the promise ring incident, I was totally preoccupied with getting engaged. It's all I could think about. I figured I was so close since he already gave me one ring. I now know that promise rings kind of give the guy a window of delay. It means "I want to marry you, just not now. I am SO not ready to get married, but I love you." They actually kind of suck if you really think about it. I shouldn't have been so excited. I thought it was a preview. Turns out their like pacifiers. Give it to 'em to shut 'em up for a while.

My Day was April 26, 2003. And I KNEW it was coming. And it's a GREAT story.