Romance is All Around

Mar 23 03:04 UTC 1995

Being the hopeless romantic that I am, I thought it would be nice to have an
area to share all of our romantic stories.  It can be anything from a first
date, to how you and your spouse met.  @}--'--,--'--

response 2 of 248:

Mar 23 03:17 UTC 1995

do they have to be about ourselves?

response 4 of 248:

Mar 23 04:48 UTC 1995

If you want romantic stories...you have come to the WRONG GUY.

response 6 of 248:

Mar 23 13:23 UTC 1995

when my dad went to propose to my mom, he said "Biddy-diddy-badda-wadda-gogoo."
My father is a strange man.

response 10 of 248:

Mar 23 17:09 UTC 1995

Up his noise Valerie?  Wow!

I once had a guy holding a Hershey's Kiss and he told me that if he
could give it to me without touching me he would give me the Kiss.
If he couldn't, he would give me a quarter.  So I had to close my
eyes and while I did so he gave me a kiss on the cheek and then
said, "Sorry, I couldn't do it!  Here's the quarter!"

response 12 of 248:

Mar 23 18:04 UTC 1995

Heh-heh. That sounds like your husand :)

response 14 of 248:

Mar 23 21:29 UTC 1995

Sorry, I was fired.  :)

response 16 of 248:

Mar 24 01:22 UTC 1995

Wow, Kae, that's quite a story!

response 18 of 248:

Mar 24 03:41 UTC 1995

of course there is!  now to find them...

response 20 of 248:

Mar 24 05:08 UTC 1995

   Sometimes, romance takes odd turns.  Like how you show it.

   This little gem comes from my mother, but several of her friends
told me about hearing about it the next day, so I think it's true.

   Back when I was born, my parents lived in a house on Willard Street
in Ann Arbor.  My mother, having gone through a certain amount of work
producing me, wanted to make sure that her product wouldn't get stolen
in the night.  Mothers do often have certain quirks, and this was hers.
My dad didn't think much of going over every inch of the house to make
a domestic Fort Knox, but didn't object to her wanderings.

   Towards the end of the day, my mom had checked out just about
everything but the window in my room.  My room was at the back part
of the house, but it was still visible, mostly, from Forrest Street.
She brought a ladder to the side of the house and put it against the
side, and proceeded to climb up it in order to test the possibility
of being able to get into my room that way.

   About the time that she satisifed herself that the window really
was locked, some lights appeared on the side of the house, and a
voice called from down below, asking her to step down, please.

   She did so, and when she was back on the ground she found herself
with two Ann Arbor policemen.  They calmy asked her what she was
doing, just after dusk, on a ladder at the side of a house that was
obviously not being painted.  She said she was checking the security
of the window to my room; apparently they thought what you might be
thinking now, which might be "why not check from the inside"?

   At any rate, she didn't flee, so one of them suggested that they
might verify my mothers identity with the occupant of the house
who was in the kitchen with the lights on, curtians not drawn.

   When my father came to the door to answer the knock, he was
greeted by my mother, flanked by these two officiers.  If those who
know me sometimes think I might be a little odd, I can explain it
by genetics, at least in part, for he was unusual too.  Blaring from
the radio was an opera (either Aida or Carmen, though no one knows
for certain), and my father was wearing a poncho, and has this this
enormous chef's hat on.  In his hands was a large mixing bowl, full
of dough for peanut butter cookies, a speciality of his.

   So, he's standing there, dressed in typical clothing, making
something in the kitchen and these two officiers are looking him
up and down, trying to figure everthing out.  My father, sensing a
chance to seize the situation, asked them

   "What's she done now, officiers?"

   in a perfectly straight face.  My mother, who was in front of
the police developed an evil stare at him.  But, this question so
unnerved the police that they stood there, not quite believing
everything.  Finally, one of them said that they'd spotted this
figure on a ladder in the night by the house, and they checked
it out.  Apparently he said something like, "What, again?" and
verified that she did indeed have a child and did indeed live
there.  After a brief pause one of the officiers said OK, thanked
him, and they both left *quickly*.

   Before both of them had gotten into their squad car, there was
cackling and laughter coming from them, and they staggered back the
final few feet to their car.

   I am not sure what happened after that.  Mom won't say.  But she
did relay this to me, and friends of my father have mentioned this
too.

   Ah, true love: to be able to spring something on the one you love...

   That house does not exist any more, but when ever I'm in the
Willard & Forrest corner, the ghosts of many happy memories come
to me.

response 22 of 248:

Mar 24 14:58 UTC 1995

Good for you, brighn! Doncha just feel complete now?

#20: funny story. :)