How I Met Your M...Father

I can't believe I've been yammering on in cyberspace for almost four years now, and haven't gotten around to officially chronicling this particular story. While this will be familiar territory to many of our friends--some of whom actually lived it right along with us--our sons might want to be let in on the tale one of these days. So, with apologies to the McLaren's gang (and possible copyright infraction notwithstanding), here goes...

Kids, in December 1995 I was a young single professional woman, with a good job, a quaint (that's code for "rent-controlled and slightly dilapidated") apartment in which I lived by myself, and a full and satisfying social life. Yes, these were the heady days of youth, when I could hang out with friends on "school nights" (I actually did work for a school system, so the concept still fit) if I wanted, and stay out late on weekends whenever I chose. Many of these Friday and Saturday night frolics involved my special partner in crime--I mean "one of my closest girlfriends from college". For instance, she and I would often venture to our old stomping grounds, Baltimore's Fells Point neighborhood, to hear our favorite local Cover Band rock out in whatever bar they happened to be playing. Now, one evening we had made plans to do just that, but when I called my pal to confirm the logistics (you know 20-something women: "who's driving?"; "what time should we go?"; and most critically of all, "what the heck should I wear?") she made an unexpected request. She explained that a friend of hers was giving a holiday party that night, and she'd promised to stop by for a while. "Would you mind if we just made a quick appearance on our way to Baltimore?" she coaxed, before apparently feeling compelled to add, "Even though you probably won't know anyone?" I applauded her honesty, and at least as I recall the conversation, scoffed at the prospect of being a wallflower: "You know me, Ms. Social Butterfly, right? I'll make new buddies!"

So with our revised agenda proposed and approved, we set off for the detour-shindig. And when we arrived, the funniest thing happened: my friend knocked on the door, was invited in, and immediately was greeted by name, as a number of...enthusiastic (code word for...well, you can guess...) partygoers heralded her entrance. (It was exactly like a "Norm" moment...except she's a girl...and it wasn't a bar...oh, never mind.) She peeled off to chat with some of her admirers, I tentatively stepped over the threshold...and heard my own name bellowed from somewhere across the room. Evidently, I DID know some of my fellow attendees after all. Okay, this part gets a tad confusing, so stick with me here: the hostess went to college with both of us, but several graduating classes later. My friend knew her from campus activities they'd participated in together, but as it turned out, I also was acquainted with some of their mutual amigos from my own college-sphere. Got it so far? Good, because it's about to get all super-complicated on ya. How in the world does Husband wander into this madcap scenario? Well, party-throwing girl grew up on Long Island, where she met--wait for it--Husband's roommate. Hostess and Roommate had in fact dated for a portion of the time she'd been down in Baltimore at college. Meanwhile Roommate and Husband had bonded and become Bros at Penn State, and now were splitting the rent on a townhouse in Pennsylvania near where they both worked.

With me? Okay, moving on...Hostess had invited her ex and his housemate (yes, Husband) to drive down for her fiesta. My girlfriend had impulsively asked if I would like to drop in on that event as well. Thus, Husband and I ended up--from Philadelphia to Bethesda to a suburb of Baltimore--at the very same social gala (makes it sound all black-tie and shrimp cocktail, right? more like miniskirt, chips, and porch-keg, actually) at the precise same moment. Wild, right? Then we just had to figure out how to date from 300-miles apart....but that's a story for another time. So we'll just leave it at this: right place, right time, and the rest, as they say, is (17 years of) history!