Superbowl Sunday never really meant much to me until about three years ago.
Three years doesn't seem right. it doesn't seem long enough, but 2018-2015=3 (right? Right I checked my calculator. I'm right.), so it must be three years now.
It's one of those stupid cliche's - in fact this story is full of those stupid cliche's, but it really doesn't seem like I met the Mr only three years ago.
In reality, we'd started talking about six weeks that on the dating app we were both using and then via facebook and texts and then nightly phone calls. We would have probably met in person sooner, but there was a 280 mile gap between us because the jerk had to be living in Vermont at the time and I had to be living in Stars Hollow.
So once he finally did that whole "do you want to meet?"
I was all:
TOTALLY KIDDING! I was basically like this:
So we decided to meet up that Sunday.
Which neither of us realized until later was Superbowl Sunday.
Because we're nerds. Who don't watch sports.
So we met at a brewery that was halfway between our two houses for lunch, and at that point nothing was really happening as far as football goes, so it was fine. I got there first and pulled a book out of my purse and waited. And then he walked in and Yeah. It was like that. We were both wearing Gryffindor scarves and all those dorky mushy feelings I had when I talked to him over the phone came bubbling up because darn it, he was cute, too.
And then we left the bar after lunch and we had all these plans to explore this town. Apparently Rudyard Kipling lived there? But we got lost on a dirt road trying to find his house, and while we were driving deeper into the woods I let The Mr know that I was texting my friends with my location in case he was going to murder me. He agreed that it was a smart plan.
So then we were going to go to the Tasha Tudor Museum. She illustrated children's books and it seemed weird and quirky and I'm pretty sure The Mr was going to say yes to anything that day, so we headed that way. It was closed. Most likely because it was Sunday and probably not becuase of football. But I shouldn't put museum curators in a box.
So our plans were going bust. But we didn't want to finish the date yet, so we found a bowling alley and bowled for a bit, which was awesome for many reasons:
1. I got to admire The Mr from different angles.
2. There was a jukebox and we took over and just played Queen the entire time because you can't be upset or bored when Queen is on. In fact, I should be listening to Queen right now. What was I thinking?
LIFE IMMEDIATELY IMPROVED
We finished bowling, and we still didn't want to stop hanging out. Did we both have 2.5 hour drives home? Yes. Did we care? NOPE.
So we went to a record store. I bought an old Lily Tomlin comedy album, because duh. He bought something that I can't remember because this is my version of the story and when he starts a blog he can tell the world what record he bought.
And then that record store happened to be next to the bar where we started our date. So we went back in there. And then remembered that it was Superbowl Sunday.
The place was packed. Except for the two seats at the bar that were facing away from the giant screen. At this point, The Mr looked at me and said "I know this might sound weird, but I have a present for you. Just wait here."
He ran out to his car and returned with a game of our own to play: Guillotine. It's a card game about the French revolution in which you're all competing as executioners to behead the most people.
Have you ever met someone who just...gets you?
So we sat at the bar all night, eating good food and playing this game, much to our bartender's amusement and concern.
That night when I finally got home, I called my sister and relayed the events of the evening to her.
Sister: So.... do you feel like this guy is, like, "the one?"
Me: After one date? That's a little insane, don't you think?
But then again... so am I.