I have been a trippin' and a stumblin' down memory lane. About love. And how grateful I am that things turned out the way they did.
Remember being able to Dial 1456?
That was me and him. And a few others too, but not many.
Back in those days (1995?) the induction training for all new Optus employees was six weeks long. (Six weeks? Fark. Times have changed.)
So, Andrew and I had six weeks of getting to know each other/showing off to each other/nicking off for smokes together.
I liked him.
He had nice long eyelashes. And he was verbose and confident. A cynical optimist. Really. He told me that about himself on the first day we met, and I thought he was mad. Cute, but mad. I thought that to be a cynical optimist was a total contradiction. An oxymoron. But it's true and possible. He is, to this day, a cynical optimist.
We then worked and partied together for a year or so. We were friends. We talked, and flirted. We got messy together on Friday nights at the pub.
I was fond. In a very low key kind of a way. He had a nice bum. Him and his goatee and his general levels of hedonism: they were fun.
We were close, in a drinking buddy kind of way. He would kiss the top of my head as he got up go to the bar to get me a drink. In a way that made our other work mates raise eyebrows. But I kind of just sat with the idea of him, in anticipation.
And then, one day...he then went and got married to some other girl. (A blonde skinny thing.)
I could tell you I was broken hearted. But I wasn't. A little sad that my Friday night pash was out of action, perhaps. It actually didn't bother me. I think I kind of quietly knew that we would end up together eventually one day. But that was a deep down in my gut very quiet type of whisper.
Him getting married to someone else was just an odd detour. I think he was on a one way street with her, unable to chuck a u-ey.
Anyway...his marriage was short and sweet. As was my attention span, to be honest. I think he tried to take me on a few dates. But I never realised he was trying to woo me. I thought we were "just friends".
I then took a trip back to England to extinguish some old flames. And whilst I was away, I would get sweet voicemail messages from Andrew. Those messages from him, well...they made me feel safe.
He picked me up from the airport when I returned from that trip.
He drove from Palm Beach to Mascot at some ungodly hour of the day, to meet me off my plane and to carry my bags.
And I still didn't really get that he was wooing me.
A week or two later, I offered to take him for dinner, to thank him for all of his gracious taxi services.
We went to a beachside restaurant in Coogee.
And he had to walk me through it very slowly.
Andrew: So, what are we going to do about us?
Me: What d'you mean, us?
Andrew: Well, we can carry on as we are...you know, friends,
Andrew: Or friends that hook up on a Friday night...
Andrew: Or you could go get a proper boyfriend on me?
Andrew: Or we could do the sensible thing. Make it official? You and me...
Me: Oh. Errrrm, so which would be your preference then?
Andrew: The latter. Obviously. See if we fall in or fall out, perhaps?
Me: Oh. Okay then.
(I have to point out something here. The above script makes me sound very cool/charmless/disinterested. Not the case. I was blown away that such a lovely bloke was able to articulate so easily to me the options, and best of all, what he wanted.)
So, that was the night we got together.
We walked, hand in hand, to the top of the headland overlooking Coogee beach, and kissed and talked. For hours.
It was bliss.
There was little pomp or ceremony then.
And 16 years later, there is still no pomp or ceremony.
But it's still bliss....
(This post originally appeared when I guest posted last year over at Lori's place. I am now linking up to both the Weekend Rewind & Maxabella's Grateful....)