Stalking = Happiness

I find it amusing to tell the story of how the husband and I met. We were in college, but as I point out to everyone who is sucked into listening, he is much much older than I (5 years) and being so we had not one class together. How then did we meet? On an intramural volleyball team. And he was psycho. He came to the tournaments screaming his head off, hooting and hollering, scaring the ever-living-everything out of me. And then, when we lost miserably in volleyball and therefore had no more tournaments, he stalked me. Yes. Stalked.

I guess it's necessary for you to know that I worked in the school library to earn money toward tuition. The husband knew this. And he would come in on those nights that I was stuck working the closing shift and stand at the front desk and talk to me for a while. Before he had to go to his "study group", right.

Okay, it's not quite stalking, but it's my story.

6 months went by without anything more than what I thought was friendly conversations when I get an instant message through myspace (yes, I was one of those). It was all over from there. 4 years later and here I am. Married to the stalker.

The husband, however tells the story much differently: As I stated before, I worked at the school library. What I failed to mention, and what the husband never fails to mention, is the Library was a "gentlman's" club. So, his story goes something like: She used to work at the Library, making sure to slowly enunciate "the Library" and nudging whoever he is proudly telling. Blank looks usually come across the story recipient as they imagine the neon signs and the tasteless atmosphere. You know, something like this. Then their faces change as they slowly turn to look at me... I can only imagine what they are thinking right at that moment.

Then the stalker has a good laugh. And I have to clarify that I worked at THE SCHOOL library and that no, I will not be "performing" later that night.

My story is better.