Thursday, September 03, 2009

A Story About a 19 year old Freshman.



So. Being that Mr. C. and I met, fell in love, and got married when we were both the ripe age of twenty-two (I like to call myself Mr. C.'s best birthday present), we both dated other people before we met. Which is strangely odd and weird and I do not like to think about it. BUT, before I met Mr. C., I might have sometimes been somewhat of a dating fiend. Not always. But sometimes. Just when I felt like it. Which came and went. From the time I was fifteen.

As such, we have stories.

Despite the introduction, this is not a story about dating. This is a story about a kiss. No. This is a story about an almost kiss.

When I was nineteen years old, I lived in Columbia, Missouri. One night in February, accompanied by my main wing woman KD, I wound up at a boy's apartment. We'd been there the week before, but we didn't really know him yet (though later he was one of our favorite friends). He was a sophomore. He had hair to his shoulders. Sometimes he wore it in a ponytail. There were a lot of people in his apartment. For most of the night, Kelly and I sat with him, surrounded by people, in his bedroom. And then, out of nowhere, he turned to me and looked me in the eye.

He kissed his fingers.
He placed them on my lips.
And then he said...

"You Decide."

I looked at Kelly. Kelly looked at me. We couldn't laugh. He was sitting between us. Kelly snickered. I looked at my hands. For a moment, I thought about it [I might have kissed one of his good friends the week before. So I decided "No"]. And then I just kept talking.

Once, when we were dating, I told this story to Mr. C.

He laughed.
And laughed.
And then laughed some more.
Then he kissed his fingers, put them on my lips, and said "You Decide."

He still does it at least once a week.
And laughs at himself every time.