Roses Are Red, Violet's are Blue, Let's Get Married Really Fast

A tale of romance and seduction by Robison Wells

My wife (Erin) and I went to high school together, in the sense that we were there at the same time. We did not go to high school together in the sense that we knew each other in the least, or dated, or asked each other to the Sock Hop. Now, I know what you're saying: "But Rob, you were the Most Beloved student in your class. How was it that there was a girl in the school who not only did not know who you were, but also didn't throw herself at you?" Answer: Erin's three years older than me, so it would have been a senior throwing herself at a freshman. Also: while I was the Most Beloved student in school (a self-granted title) girls did not routinely throw themselves at me. Perhaps they were intimidated by my zitty face and 1972 Chevy Impala.

Anyway, Erin was the cousin of one of my best friends (Micah) and I vaguely remember Erin hanging out at his house once in a while. She was usually in the front room, sitting on the couch with a gaggle of other female relatives, and I'd hurry past them to get to Micah's basement where the rootbeer flowed like water and there was always basketball on TV. Yes, for years rootbeer and basketball trumped my wife. But by then I was still only eighteen and she was twenty one, and college juniors (female) don't date high school seniors (male), no matter how Beloved they may be.

I went on my mission and she never wrote me, but that's okay because I never wrote her, and I doubt at that point that I even knew her name, or thought of her once in the entire two years. (Cause I was too busy thinking about faith, repentance, and Three Nephites folklore.)

Cut to Thanksgiving after my mission: I'd been home for about eight months, and it was a tradition in Micah's family to play football at the local elementary school. I'd attended this for several years, but Erin apparently never had.

Now, the way that Erin tells the story is that she intercepted two passes that were intended for me. The way I tell the story involves changing the subject and--hey! Look at that over there!

So, I asked Micah if Erin (his cousin) would like to go out with me. This is because I was still in the seventh grade. So he asked her, and she said something to the effect of "Is he in the seventh grade? Tell him to ask me himself!" So, I did, and the rest, as they say, was a really crappy first date. Yes, it was lousy, exacerbated partly by the fact that it was a group activity which allowed for virtually no conversation between she and I, and partly by the fact that I had to cut it short so I could buy a banana cream pie for another girl. So... yeah.

If our courtship were a romantic comedy, the next two weeks would be summed up in a musical montage wherein Erin and I separately walked in the rain, looked lonely, and listened to sad pop songs.

Fortunately, after a bad date and two weeks of non-contact, I asked her out again. We got engaged two days after Christmas. We were married on St. Patrick's Day. Get out your calculators! Result: 81 days, start to finish. Hi! I'm from Utah!

We've had seven years of wedded bliss, and our relationship is superior to yours in every way possible. And she's thirty already, and I'm not. Ha ha!


(Dear Readers: I'm going to be out of town next week. The dang CIA keeps pulling me back in for "just one more mission". I swear, I'm getting so sick of those guys. Anyway, in my absence Matthew Buckley, author of the upcoming novel Bullies Don't Have Armpits, will be guest blogging. Tune in next Tuesday!)