Oh boy. Here we go again. First, I met the asshat down the hall and spent a year glaring at him childishly. We had a tremendously awkward first date and then a really bizzarre second date in which he almost made a golf cart explode. Things were not going smoothly at all. And then he called me for a third date. I was baffled. Why would he want to keep inflicting these weird experiences on himself? Was he a sado-masochist? Perhaps performing some kind of psychiatric experiment? More than likely, I thought, he was bored. It was summer break and everyone else was home, so I figured he was just trying to kill time. Particularly when he said we could just “hang out around his dorm” for our third get-together. Clearly he was over trying to impress me, so I was positive he just wanted to be friends.
I’m still convinced he fell in love with me when I showed up bearing cake. Neither of us can remember exactly why I had cake with me, but I’d baked it for some event and brought a whole bunch of it up to his dorm. We hung out for a few hours, eating cake and talking about…uh…whatever college kids talk about, when he suggested we watch a movie. So we wound up sprawled on his bed, watching Notting Hill.
I know what you’re thinking. “Duh, Chelsea, you were on his BED watching NOTTING HILL! You seriously thought he just wanted to be friends? You. Are. An. Idiot.” Okay, first of all, don’t judge. Second, you clearly have not seen our college dorm rooms. Tiny. Using a bed to double as a couch was perfectly normal. And third, Nate had actually mentioned earlier that he has a penchant for chick flicks (it’s true!), so it didn’t seem too out of the ordinary. Until he started slumping closer and closer to me throughout the film. And then he reached out and grabbed my hand, boldly going where no man has gone before er, um…nevermind.
It was during the garden scene that he FINALLY made his move. While Julia Roberts and Hugh Grant were breaking in over the fences (which totally reminded me of Nate “breaking in” to the school pool on our second date), our eyes caught and he began his slow descent towards my face. It was probably the slowest kiss in the history of mankind. No joke. He closed in at maybe a centimeter per second. When I teased him about it much later, he claimed that he was going by the conventional, “I go 90, you come 10″ rule that Will Smith taught us all in Hitch. I, however, was still pretty surprised at our sudden more-than-friends status (I had a huge crush on the guy but had been pretty convinced he wasn’t into me), plus I was really amused at his snails-paced approach. So I just sat there looking at him curiously, giving no encouragement or response or normal reaction whatsoever until he met his mark. And then…BAM:
Despite our rocky start, it was a straight-out-of-the-movies kiss. Even the timing of Notting Hill cooperated, with Ronan Keating beginning to croon “When You Say Nothing At All” at the exact second our lips met. And yes, we’re dancing to that song at our wedding. It’s over-the-top sappy and so not really us, but it’s our song.
That’s that. It only took three dates. A year of glaring…and three dates. We’ve been together ever since.