My starter husband and I, we took it slow. In fact, I didn’t like him when we first met. The truth be told, I didn’t like ANY of the men I fell in love with. Yes, really.
My starter husband and I met at work and I was very, um, territorial. He was the golden boy who moved to Fargo from a small Minnesota city. I didn’t want to know anything about him, I didn’t want to socialize with (the enemy) him and I certainly didn’t want a friendship with him.
I tried really hard to dislike him. I think he even saw through me and asked me about it once. But, as much as I tried to be cold and distant, I begrudgingly started to respect him not only for his work expertise but because he was so humble, respectful, soft spoken and kind. The friendship that grew from that surprised me.
Once I decided the new kid was alright, he and I were often among the last of the work gang to leave the bars. We would end the night talking and then go our separate ways. I wasn’t attracted to him in the least little bit; that came much later.
Then, somewhere along the line, that all changed. After a night of drinking, I spent the night at his place. We slept (passed out?) on the floor and he didn’t touch me. He was incredibly respectful even though we’d both had enough to drink to blame whatever happened on the booze.
It was the next morning we decided we liked each other in a way that was more than just friendship. We both agreed we’d like to see where this took us. But ‘this’ was going to be a major problem. A relationship with him was now taboo as he had just been promoted to the position I wanted. He was now my boss.
The rest of that story is in previous blogs or will be saved for another day. I want to stay on task here, or at least look like I’m trying.
After the death of my starter marriage, I begged God to send me someone who was compassionate and kind and would treat me the way I deserved to be treated. My needs? Simple. I wanted to be treated like a princess. And, I must say, God delivered even if it was in the most unlikely of packages.
My golf course recently hired a new golf professional/manager. He was 6’ 5”, gangly and had faded red hair. I wasn’t attracted to him, either. But gawl dang it! He had the gift of gab and the patience of Job. He was kind, gracious and courteous and had a way of making me feel like the whole world revolved around me.
Weeks went by and I watched his interactions with the staff and with the patrons. He was quirky and liked to talk. I became interested. Days later, after I had rediscovered the lost art of flirting and acting like a 16 year old, I needed to call for a ride home (it was really a ploy! Ohh, harlet!) so I asked for the phone book. He said he’d give me a ride home. Bingo!
It eludes me as to why he spent the night. I think it was because he needed to be back at the course by 6 and it was already 3:30. He, too, was a complete gentleman and slept on the couch. I slept in my bed with the door shut.
The next morning, on the ride to get my car, he held my hand. I knew then that I wanted to know more about him and I knew then he wanted to know more about me. I was starting to see his inner beauty and I was starting to find him interesting and attractive.
He treated me with kindness. He showed me, again and again through words and actions, the respectful way a woman should be treated. He reminded me – and gave me hope – that there were men out there who would treat me the way I wanted (and deserved) to be treated.
Then along came my forever husband. Trinity was like a Mack truck compared to the other two. He was aggressive, direct, confident, engaging and flirty. He was, in my opinion, a player and someone not to get involved with. I wasn’t the least bit attracted to him. Heard that before? Well, here we go again; same song, different verse.
He set the pace for our relationship and that pace was slow. Snail’s pace slow. Excruciatingly slow. This was not his normal as he was used to moving fast (think corvette fast). But for me? He wanted something different.
We didn’t start “playing house” right away. We didn’t talk for hours and hours each night on the phone; we didn’t see each other every spare moment. We didn’t call each other several times a day (this was before texting became so popular) and we didn’t overshare within minutes of meeting each other. We took the time to get to know each other. As our friendship grew, my interest in him, and the attraction, began.
It’s not lost on me that three of my greatest loves were unlikely matches. For pity sake, I didn’t like these people nor was I attracted to them. But in spite of that – or maybe because of that – these relationships took root, grew and blossomed.
Some of the most beautiful flowers manage to grow in the harshest environments.
Want to read more blogs about Trinity’s and my life? Here you go:
Fate – Fate II – Communication – Vasectomy – Miracle