I met my husband in April of 2007. In August, at a Blue October concert, we looked at each other and he said to me, “We’re in trouble, aren’t we?” A week later, after only officially dating for seven days, he proposed marriage.
I remember, as he proposed, sitting there. I don’t know if he practiced his speech or if he made it up as he spoke, but I remember my head racing as I tried to figure out how to tell him that no, I don’t want to marry you. No, I’m not interested in you like that.
What came out of my mouth was, ”Of course.”
We were married six months later. He wanted to marry immediately; I wanted to wait until April Fool’s Day; we compromised and picked the day that our chosen venue had open. To be honest, I’ve always hated that date. February 9 - four days before Valentine’s Day. How cliche can you get?
I probably should’ve known it was an omen.
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