And no, I am not stealing Nadine's story - but go check it out. Our local publishing house and author claim to fame...
This is the story of how Big Boy and I well, became Big Boy and I. Thanks Bern - but mine is probably a little long and convoluted to put in a comment.
1993, a fine year for romance... or maybe not. The first quarter of this year I was backpacking around America, Mexico and Canada. The previous year I had completed six months in Europe doing the same. I arrived back in Oz in March, just in time to walk into a local pub to surprise one of my besties for her birthday. Little did I know this date was going to be important for the rest of my life. Not that I met HIM that night, but it will become clear later.
March was also the month I attended the first of two weddings. Coming down from the high of nearly a year overseas I did what any self-respecting party person would do when trying to settle back in to reality, I picked up the best man. Not that he was the best man, he was more of a young, fit and hot you'll do for now cause I'm bored sort of man. Did I mention young? I was 29, he was 22.
I was living back in my country home town, intent on spending time with family. He was a part time distraction to keep the insanity away. After the bright lights of many fine cities and intense experiences, returning to my childhood haven was a little like watching flies stuck on drying paint. A zzz-zz every now and then and not much in between.
Roll around June, and the next wedding. This one was in Newcastle, a couple of hours drive away. The bride had already drilled me on the "hot" best man, and being the ornery beast I am, I had told her in no uncertain terms: "Not interested!"
"Madmother, you are nearly 30, don't you think it is time to give up the toy boys and meet a nice guy and settle down?"
"Ah no, I am quite happy with my not-nice hot guys and not settling anything, but thank you for thinking of me."
I was still happily bumping uglies with aforementioned toy boy and was seriously NOT INTERESTED (you can see where this is heading, right?).
Off I toddle to the Novocastrian Nuptuals, staying with a friend who lived in the area (no, not THAT sort of friend. A happily married mate and his wife and sister).
The wedding was fun BUT the wine was terrible! Remember, I am a broke newly returned backpacker without a brass razoo to buy drinks, especially ones priced by this large flash hotel. So I go the "other" option at the bar. Sweet Sherry.
You can imagine how messy that became rather quickly.
The BOY had been introduced to me at the church. It was rather flattering the way his eyes had lit upon meeting me, but there was no way I was having a bar of it. And, I must admit, I had my eye on the MC. Every time the poor devil tried to talk to me at the reception I walked away, quickly.
But the Sherry intervened. As did the newly ex-wife of the MC who was also at the wedding!
By the time the bride announced an auction for the two groomsman I was feeling little pain. And barely noticed when I bid $2 (I was broke, remember? And the first bid was 50 cents so I was being generous) and she called an instant stop to the bidding and announced me the winner.
It was nearing the end of the ceremonies, and my two slaves, plus the MC and the ex all decided to party on at a nearby nightclub. Or two.
From that point Big Boy bought all my drinks, thus switching to my drink of choice; Southern Comfort. The MC and his ex got into a heated discussion at the bar.
Somehow BB and myself ended up pashing on the dance floor. I was feeling no pain. And he was hot. Even if he was a set up.
He walked me back to my car, which I was in no state to drive - and had no intention of driving - for more pashing. Car pashing.
I think he got my number pretty quick when I desperately needed to pee and walked up to the bushes on the side of the road, and squatted in the gutter - on one of the main streets of Newcastle. Hey - it was in the bushes and I was desperate!
We drove - or rather he drove back to the townhouse he was staying at with 4 other guys. I crashed on the lounge for a couple of hours (way too drunk for any hanky panky) and then snuck out before dawn.
Without leaving my number.
Yes, there is more to this story, but it can wait for another time. After all, 18 years, a wedding ring and two kids later we are still together.
Oh, and that date of my besties birthday? Well, guess who else was born on that date?
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