Thirteen Years is a Long Time

I work with quite a few women.  Most are married but a few are single.

At work this week, I happened to be talking to two of my single friends/colleagues.  (I will not reveal their names, not even a Yo-Yo name in order to protect the crazy innocent).  The subject was dating.

Now, y’all picture this: two single friends who are in the dating scene and me – an old married gal.  Okay, so I’m not old (and neither are either of my friends), but I am married and it’s very interesting to really see our different views on dating.  (Of course it’s easy for the married gal to talk about dating, right?)

I’ve been out of the dating scene a good while (and God willing, I’ll never go back.  Lord knows I just don’t have the patience/stamina/time for all of that business) but at one point I did date.  I never really dated dated until I met the Man Beast.  At Busch Gardens.  In the Black Forest Picnic Area.  13 years ago.

It was my first year of college (let me just let the cat out of the bag right now: MB is 3 years younger than me.  We met while I was a freshman in college – you do the math.)  It was March of 96 and the new season was about to start.  I failed (!!) a math test during my interview, so for an extra .25 an hour, I opted for food service.

Who knew that the decision would change my life?

If anyone has ever been to a Busch theme park (Busch Gardens, Sea World, Seasame Place), you’ll notice that all the crew members have states (or countries) on their name badges.  Most of the badges in the Black Forest Picnic Area read ‘Virginia’.  A few read ‘Pennsylvania’.  One two said ‘California’ – mine and the Man Beast.

We were both from the West Coast living on the East Coast – a connection made in heaven.  Or at least a theme park.

The MB and I started talking.  We talked when we made tea in the morning.  We talked when we served chicken during the afternoon picnics.  We talked so much that our boss would purposely give us jobs apart from each other.  (Maybe she knew something we didn’t?)

Eventually, one thing led to another and he asked me for my phone number in the catacombs one day after work.  Let me just say right now that I was a good girl.  I had never been in trouble.  Never been much of a partier.  But I really like the Man Beast.  He was my friend.

Soon, we began dating.  Our parents were less than thrilled.  Interestingly enough, it all focused on age.  His mom didn’t like the idea I was older and my parents didn’t like the idea that he was younger.  (Looking back 13 years later as a mom, I can understand where they were coming from.  I’m not sure I’d be cool with The Boy bringing home an older chick or Baby Gurl bringing home a boy barely leaving the cradle).  Be that as it may, we fell more and more deeply in love.

In true youth stupidity zeal, we were engaged, married and on our way to becoming a family within a year.

I was 20 and he was 18 when we were married.  We seemed so young!   We were young.

Getting to where we are now, I don’t think I’d change a thing.  But I also know that I wouldn’t want to go through it again.  Dating has it’s good points.  But I think this old married gal much prefers marriage over dating.

But I can still give advice, right?