Five years ago, I was hostessing at a restaurant / lounge / bar in Vancouver’s entertainment district. I had worked the early shift and was staying for the late shift to cover for another girl who wanted to go to a party. I was bored. My feet hurt. I was sick of talking to drunk people.
That night, a guy tried to take his beer to the bathroom, and I snapped at him and told him he couldn’t.
On his way out, he used the worst pick-up line I’ve ever heard. So I gave him my number.
On our first date, he wore a fleece and asked me for a ride home and didn’t try to kiss me.
On our second date, a friend of his showed up unannounced at his apartment and hung out for half an hour while we awkwardly watched a movie. After the second date, I got a misdirected text message saying, “Oh jeez, 19 not even 20…”
But we’ve spent the last five years making each other laugh until my forehead gets itchy and exploring this weird unfathomable ordinary everyday life and offering a shoulder to cry on when one of us drops an entire fresh-baked pie on the floor.
Okay, I’m the only one who’s dropped a pie on the floor.
Love you D. Happy 5 years.