Greetings, strangers and friends! If you're wondering what this blog post is all about, may I suggest you head over here to read the first five installments of How I Met My Husband? Don't worry, this story won't take eight years to tell. In fact, we met in the very first episode. The rest is just pure entertainment. And love. With a little chaos, confusion, bodily injury and breaking-down-in-115-degree-Wyoming thrown in for good measure.
Hang on, we're almost there.
Ah, the first fight. That rite of passage, the gauntlet that every new couple must run at one time or another.
Ours? Ours was over McDonalds. Yes, you read that right. McDonalds.
Before you all dive for your organic-fair-trade tar and feathers, remember this, we were broke photo school students in a small town with about two choices after 8pm: McDonalds, or the weird crusty thing your roommate left in the bottom drawer of the communal fridge.
Chicken nuggets? Serve ‘em up.
So there we were at the drive through window, making our life-shortening selections. He ordered some sort of burger, and I went for, you guessed it, chicken nuggets. 10 of them. Give me a break, I was hungry. Being an artistic genius works up a real appetite.
Here’s what actually happened: I ordered, and he jokingly said something to the effect of “Whoah, there, Piggy.”
Bad enough in itself, right?
Well, here’s what I heard: “Whoah there, you wallowing fat cow, slow yourself down. I’m with you for your body, and if that changes, I’ll be gone faster than a pair of hooker boots at a Castles clearance sale. By the way, we have no future together, and I think you’re really unattractive and a terrible person.”
True story. Welcome to the world of he said, she heard.
Like any self-respecting, overly emotional female already stretched to their breaking point, I freaked out. And by freaked out, I mean became furious, mortified, heartbroken, vindictive and ornery all at once. Try that on for size, Andrew Vanasse.
We went back to his apartment, and after several attempts at talking and being returned with the iciest of shoulders, he gave up and went to bed.
Not the proudest moment of my life. Or his.
Something finally broke, we scuffled (only verbally, of course), I went on a vehement rant about him being a supremely insensitive goober, then all was set right. I sternly advised him that, no matter how smokin’ hot the girl might be, it is inadvisable to make “piggy” comments to anyone with any iota of estrogen galloping through their veins.
What did we learn? Well, it certainly wasn’t how to fight fair. That would come much later.
Probably the most valuable lesson to learn here is that one should avoid McDonalds at all costs.
Seriously. Gross.
On a lighter note, here are a couple pretty pictures we took of each other around the time of our first fight. They have nothing to do with anything, but a blog post feels empty without photos.
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