Wednesday, January 11, 2012

How I Met Your Father

I need to get this account set down now, before any completely untrue versions start to circulate. What are you about to read is the absolute, unvarnished truth. Don't let Matt tell you anything otherwise!

No worries, I'm not going to make this some long, drawn-out story, like the television show bearing a similar name (but not the exact same name! no copyright infringement here!). Unless Neil Patrick Harris is involved. Then I will gladly sell all movie rights of this blog and anything else NPH requires of me.

Matthew Thomas picked me up in a bar. It was April 15, 2011 and I was in the midst of celebrating my Birthday Week with friends. I was hanging out at Brewbaker's, minding my own business, when I notice this guy in a plaid shirt checking me out. I did some checking out myself, noted that he was quite handsome, and decided to investigate further later. Or, he could come to me.

Shortly after this non-verbal exchange, an obviously inebriated woman meanders over to my group. She props herself against my table (most likely to keep from falling over), and drawls "see my friend over there," (points to handsome man sporting plaid shirt), "he has been checking you out alllllll night. Will you go dance with him?" I compose myself and respond to drunkie: "If your friend wants to come and ask me to dance, I might say yes, but let's not be middle school about this." Drunkie seemed satisfied with that answer, because she stumbled off into the crowd.

I resumed my birthday celebrations, and about five minutes later Handsome Plaid Shirt appears at my table. He apologized for Karen (drunkie), got down on one knee, and begged for forgiveness. No, just kidding, that part did not happen. He apologized, I accepted, told him it was my birthday, and he offered to buy me a drink. I politely declined (had to play hard to get), he insisted, so I then graciously accepted. It was, after all, my birthday.

I discovered that Handsome Plaid Shirt was not his real name, his name was Matt and he was from Ashburn. Thus, he was saved in my phone as Matt Ashburn (Matt insists he told me his last name that night, but I believe that point is debatable). When I found out he was from Ashburn, I gave him what I'm sure I thought was my most winning smile and said "oh, well it just so happens I will be in Nova tomorrow for a bridal shower, maybe we could meet up." This was probably followed up with another coy smile and a batting of eyelashes.

Our dinner date the next night is its own story. Matt and I met up in Arlington, and I was a tad bit nervous. I'd had my fair share of first dates that didn't warrant a second date, and I wasn't sure if this one would be any different. Well, spoiler alert, there WAS a second date!

That night, we dined at the finest french restaurant in DC. And by "finest french restaurant" I actually mean a random irish restaurant called Four Courts that was down the street from the bridal shower. Lucky for us, there was a cover band playing. I can't remember the name of the band but we should definitely book them for our wedding. As the night wore on, the band members continued to serenade us and continued to drink as well. So much so that they never completed another song--they would sing, a band member would yell "UNLEASH THE FURY" in a demonic voice, and then they would switch to a new song. It was quite the backdrop for a romantic evening.

It was the perfect date, and I wholeheartedly mean that. We talked for over five hours, and finally left the restaurant around midnight when the band started to get seriously out of control. He walked me to my car, and I kindly offered to give him a ride to the parking garage. We cruised on over, and lo and behold the parking garage was closed! Shut down! What a coincidence! Matt had NO IDEA that was going to happen! Being the kind, southern lady that I am, I gave him a ride back to his house in Ashburn. I am still convinced that he planned that out so he could spend more time with me.

Five days later we were an official couple--although not Facebook official, which I do realize is the only thing that counts. Matt said something to me in german that night, which he says translated to "you are wonderful," but for all I really know could have meant "is that beer a worschteiner?" Whatever it was, I was hooked. The rest, as they say, is history.

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