The day I met Derek

If you know me, you know that I dated veeeeeery badly while living in NYC.  I had a lot going on that was working out well for me in Brooklyn – I had cool jobs (from what people kept telling me), socialized with a bunch of super diverse friend circles (which had me double and sometimes triple booked most evenings), and I lived in a chic and up and coming neighborhood that I adored (and yes, I moved there before all my friends realized it was cool to live in BK, then they copied me – trend credit, please!).  Dating, however, was not my forte.  I met some guys at bars but rarely through friends – I tried eharmony, OkCupid, and Match, even a friend advertised ME on craigslist without my knowledge (the HORROR!) – and then proceeded to conduct interviews with the dudes who responded before setting me up on dates with them!  That was super weird, but I appreciated her effort – she cared.  All that, and I rarely found anyone I wanted to see for a second date.  As it turned out, a second date with my now, husband, wasn’t a priority either…

I realize that you all know how this story ends – “the jig is up” as I like to say.  But I promise, this is a love story that doesn’t scream “and it ended with the Fancy Franny Blog”.  So maybe just pretend I’m still single for the purposes of this story.  So let’s begin: I’m SINGLE!  I’m 28.  I haven’t had a boyfriend since I was 17.  My slalom skis are in the spacious trunk of my Volvo wagon and I’m headed to VT to ski for Martin Luther King weekend with my family.  Are we there yet?!

I’m sipping white wine from a thin lipped glass and happily messaging away EVERYONE I’ve matched with on Tinder (this was a new app for me but seemed cool to try out in VT because it matched me with men who were geographically close to me – I’m explaining this because my mother reads this blog and I know I will be asked what Tinder is again).  I write the same introductory words to all matchees (aka people who I think are cute and they think you are cute back) “you skiing at Okemo?” – ya know, just looking for a new ski buddy.

My mug shot with day-old mascara was real flirty.  Oooof.

But I got a response!   Derek was up for meeting a total stranger and skiing the slopes of Okemo with me. Side note – for the purposes of this photo I had to re-download Tinder and find Derek’s first message to me and snap a screenshot of his mug shot – that’s why he’s 40.  PS – I was utterly confused on how to operate the app 3 years later.

All three of us met up the very next morning to ski, bright and early – “first tracks are important,” Derek agreed.  There was some fresh powder awaiting us, la la la.  Oh, did I forget to tell you that my uncle joined us on the slopes?  He did!  And he joined us after our legs were sore from chasing each other down the mountain and retired to The Killarney for bloody marys.  I was in between the two of them yacking about golf and Scotland and looking at my watch.  YAWN.  After a couple hours, my uncle started glancing at his watch because the Patriots were in the playoffs…”wanna come back and watch the game with us” my uncle chirped, without even glancing my way.  Cool, I thought.  I’m on a man-date!  Let the date continue!

Next, was introducing our new friend to my aunts who were busily preparing dinner, but stopped in their tracks to devote all attention to Derek when we arrived: “would he like a beer?”  “He golfs!”  “Oh wow, he’s a GOOD golfer.” (I did not follow golf, play golf, I hated golf ).  “You know Brian, too!?” they trilled.  “How about you stay for dinner?”  “You’ve been drinking and it’s snowing, you should stay the NIGHT!”  So he pretended to like mushrooms and cozied in for a long winter’s night.  We drank 10 year-old Bulleit Bourbon that he had brought special, just for me (because I had mentioned I liked it in passing) and we played animated games of cribbage (and whatever the heck this game is below) with my family.  My family was crushing…HARD.

As the clock ticked and the wood fire crackled, we curled up on the couch together – it was nice!  It was cozy snuggling up to this boarder who could keep up with me on the slopes.  It was…LOUD!!  Derek had fallen asleep and the noises of a rabid dinosaur began vibrating and echoing throughout the three floors of pine boards.  There would be no sleep for anyone else that night but Derek.

As the sun came up, and I had not slept, I was thinking, meh.  Besides, he lived in NH.  I lived in Brooklyn.  I’d never see him again – this would never work anyway.  And so I bottled up whatever fantasies I had dreamed up in my head (because I always attached some sort of fantasy to any prospective guy I met – snoring and all), and packed up my wagon to begin the 6 hour journey back to my apartment: 4 roommates, 1 bathroom.

The next day at work I was called downstairs to reception – there were perky red roses and creamy white lilies perched on the table addressed to ME.  What!?  I had NEVER, EVER been sent flowers by a guy.  The sensation was mind altering.  I must have been on drugs!  At work!

Later that evening, I was on my way to drinks with a former roommate and I got a text from Derek – “whatcha up to tonight” he inquired.  “Just grabbing drinks with a friend” I replied. “Where abouts?”  “My new favorite neighborhood spot – Pork Slope” I chattered, knowing how little he knew of Park Slope.  Sitting down to drinks I cozied up to my friend and spilled the beans on my last 48 hours.  She cooed, I poo pooed.  The bartender meandered over and asked, “was I Franny?” – well, yes, I was – and so two drinks magically appeared in front of us – “they’re on Derek” he said.  STOP.  Just stop it.  This DOES NOT HAPPEN.  He’s clearly insane.  Or I’m hallucinating.

But it wasn’t a hallucination.  It was real, and it happened.  He asked me out again…

And on our second date, I brought him the gift of Breathe Right Strips.

We’ve been married a year this month.