I Married the Boy Next-Door

Big Papa and I are celebrating our 3-year wedding anniversary on Wednesday; we’ve been together for 6 years. Leading up to the milestone, this blog will be all about romance, starting with the story of how we met…

I was twenty-seven. I’d just decided I needed to make some big changes: I sold my house and moved into an apartment; I decided to go back to university. I was spending lots of time with friends, and having a pretty good time, but I was getting tired of sleeping with my two cats.

About a week after I moved into the apartment, I was sitting in my tiny backyard with a girlfriend, enjoying a cold beer. We heard someone at the door of the apartment next to mine, on the other side of the fence. We surreptitiously peered over and discovered, to our delight, my next-door neighbour was a hottie. He looked like he was returning from the gym—all sweaty and sexy. We ogled and giggled, then returned to our pints. I told my friend I would get busy and meet my new neighbour post haste.

The next night, I paid attention and noticed he pulled in to our common parking area at around six-ish. The night after that, I left my groceries in my car, planning to go out and retrieve them when he arrived. He was late; my ice cream was melting; I wanted to change into my track-pants and veg on the couch, so I gave up—that night.

The next night, I donned my shortest shorts, filled a bucket with hot soapy water, and started scrubbing my car (a first). Bingo! A few minutes later, he pulls in. He parks, and shyly approaches me and introduces himself.

“We should have a drink sometime,” I simper.

“I’d really like that,” he replies, sincerely, in his beautiful, quiet manner.

Holy shit! A hottie who doesn’t know he’s a hottie. He’s actually, gasp, shy!

Luckily, I am not so shy. Although I had never asked out a man before, the very next night I was, again, enjoying a cocktail outside with a friend. I told her about the exchange the evening before.

“Invite him over; I want to meet him,” she orders.

I think for about two seconds. “OK!” (She’s a lesbian; therefore, not competition.)

I knock on the door and he answers right away. He’s glad to see me! He says he’d love to join us, selects a nice bottle of red from his counter, and follows me to my place. The three of us enjoy the wine; then we take him to my favourite watering hole, The Red Dog tavern. We dance all night to a rock ‘n’ roll cover band and get home at 3 am. Outside my door, we kiss for about an hour--a little sloppy and wet, but wonderful.

The very next night, we did Chinese take-out and movies. We were pretty much inseparable after that. It was kind of awkward at first, dating the boy next-door—you’re never sure how often you should stop by, or if you should phone first. A couple of friends said I shouldn’t “shit in my own backyard”.

I’m glad I didn’t listen.

Coming next: how Big Papa proposed.