19 years and counting . . .

Can anyone remember what you were doing 19 years ago today? (That would be February 6, 1988 for those of you who are really bad at math).

I can.

It was a Saturday. I was a 19-year-old college freshman and I had a date.

Well, sort of a date.

It was really more like I had my sights set on a certain soccer player at my school and a group of my friends, plus a group of his friends, were all going out together to a dance club.

And I was nervous. Nervous because I really liked him. Nervous because prior to that night I had only said about 50 words to him and had no idea if he liked me. Nervous because there was a strong possibility he was interested in one of my friends instead. Nervous because I really didn’t know his friends either.

So I primped carefully. The afternoon is a bit foggy, but I’m pretty sure I went to the mall to buy a new shirt. And I know I spent a good part of the afternoon thinking about what I would say and do and trying to imagine how the night would go.

When it came time to leave, we all met up and between all 14 of us, only one person had a car. Me. So we did what any group of college students in the same situation would do. We all got in. (Look away, Mom). Yep, that’s right. All 14 of us got into my Chevy Celebrity and off we went.

Only we didn’t get that far at first. Because you see, when you put 14 people into a car designed to hold at best six, there are people whose bodies are not actually touching any physical part of the car, but who rather are sort of levitating in the air supported solely by the bodies of others. And before we even got off campus the foot of one of those levitating bodies slipped forward and slammed the gear shift of my car from “drive” to “reverse” while we were going about 30 miles-per-hour.

This, as you can guess, is not really very good for the transmission of your basic automobile and the car stalled and all sorts of weird lights started flashing on the dashboard. After that, the car would not start again. After several failed attempts, I started to cry trying to think about how I was going to explain this one to my parents. But luckily, my "date's" friend David gave it one more try and lo and behold it started right up. (I think I actually hugged him).

So we all cheered and then got back in (yep, not the smartest group we were) and away we went. It was not a short drive and it was winter. I think it was snowing a little. It seemed to take forever to get there, but we made it without further incident.

Now, as most people reading this know by now, a dance club is not exactly the ideal place for a date. In addition to not being able to hear a thing the person standing next to you is saying, there are also just too many distractions.

Like ex-girlfriends. Yep, that’s right. His ex was there. And to this day, I think she was still pining for him (though he would disagree) because she kept coming over to talk with him and dragging him out onto the dance floor. But luckily, I am a persistent little minx (and, quite frankly was a whole lot cuter than her) and I didn’t let this minor problem distract me from my goal.

So we stayed a few hours. Danced a bit. Drank some. (Mom you can look again.) Not me though since I was driving. I have always been very good about that. And then we all piled back into the car and drove back to campus.

And my night ended with a good-night kiss that made me a bit weak in the knees and sent my heart racing.

That was 19 years ago. The object of my affection that night, in case you haven't guessed by now, was named Mark and many, many years later, I married him. And today we have two beautiful children.

Things didn't turn out quite as well for my Chevy Celebrity, which was never quite right after that and required a steady stream of transmission fluid dumped into its innards to prevent it from bucking and hesistating whenever I stepped on the gas.

Good thing I know a bit more about men then I do about cars. ☺