Online dating is now the norm. Twenty-five years ago, it was not. Meeting people online, way back then, was odd and people wondered what was wrong with you if you had to resort to that to meet people. However, that is how I met my husband and having recently celebrated our 18th wedding anniversary, it seems fitting to remember the evening of our first date and reminisce a bit on that and our twenty-five years together.

Technically, it was so long ago, it kind of predated ‘online’ dating, we met through a telephone dating service. I remember his ad, as I answered him. I was captivated by his voice, so much so, I missed the part where he said his idea age was about five or ten years older than I was at the time. However, he replied to me anyway because I must have sounded interesting enough to talk to. And talk we did – all night long, with an agreement to meet for dinner the following night. Reluctantly, I agreed to have him pick me up. The first sign he was a gentleman, chivalrous and wanting to please.

Older and wiser, he seemed to know a lot about everything! Wine, culture, current events. I felt naive, backwards, and quite awkward; like I had not lived a life at all. I spent my Saturday shopping with my sister and brother-in-law, both of whom were against this blind date. Figuring my date was a serial killer in disguise, they insisted I leave his information in an available place so they could find him when I invariably went missing. The problem? I didn’t have his phone number or even his last name. This was not information I shared with my family, but I tucked his screenname and where we met on a piece of paper in the agreed upon location and waited, nervously, for him to arrive.

He promptly arrived at 6pm, as scheduled. He startled me when he knocked on my door, though not really. I’d heard him come into the building; I was just jumpy. Remember, we didn’t know what the other looked like. Would he like me? Was I pretty enough? He was smarter than I was, he was college educated. Did I mention he was the vice president of a tech company? I worked in a warehouse. He was tall, his smile was warm, his laugh infectious. He seemed so worldly and felt like an imposter who knew nothing. His eyes seemed to see through me, and he wanted to know about me. I remember being embarrassed by who I was, I was so plain and boring.

He took me to a New Orleans Cajun diner, he told me about what he did for work, he asked about my job. I sold sewing supplies for a wholesaler. Taking the opportunity to lean in close when he spoke, to hear me, of course, the diner was packed, but likely to be close to me. His actions were demonstrative, and he seemed able to make contact without making contact. I was smitten. I loved his laugh, and his eyes were so blue, I tried not to stare at him, but it was hard. We saw a movie that was the epitome of dysfunctional, but oddly, reminded me of my family. The evening ended with him dropping me off at home and he gave me his number. Success!

After that night, we became almost inseparable. Laughing, talking, getting to know one another. All the good things that come at the beginning of new relationships. He took me to places I’d only ever dreamed of going – fancy restaurants, plays, concerts. I had no idea what life could be like. He worried I didn’t eat enough; I had recently dropped a bunch of weight and had no appetite. My husband has never been one to cook, but he was happy to let me experiment with my recently converted to vegetarianism menu.

I remember quiet moments spent with us both reading in my apartment. I didn’t have a television, so we would just sit and read. Eventually, he took me to his condo, I remember him telling me he cleaned up for me, but we had to stop and buy groceries as he only had condiments in his fridge. His kitchen was so unused, the stove had dust on it.

We didn’t like being apart, so the decision for me to move in came about rather organically. It was after a camping trip we had been on that had gotten rained out. Neither of us wanted me to go home, so I started moving in, one arm load at a time. The last time I stayed at my apartment was July 27, 1999. I am not sure why I still recall that date.

There have been a lot of ups and downs over the past 25 years. A wedding, a birth of a child, a few dogs, a couple cats. We bought a house, a couple of RVs. He retired last year. We both have changed a lot! I have been with him for more than half of my life and nearly all of my adult life (I was twenty-four when we met). In many ways, I do not know how to exist without him by my side, which isn’t a bad thing, he has always been by my side.

I am thankful for him. He has helped me grow as a person, shaped and encouraged me. He has been a cheerleader, supporter, wiped tears, and made it so I could go on, when I didn’t think I could. Facing the hard days were always a little bit easier knowing he was there with me. While he once told me he wouldn’t support another crazy whim (like my vegetarianism) again, I know he’d walk all the other crazy whims I have. Thank you, sweet husband, for always being there with me. You are one of the best memories I have.