Today marks seven years since I was joined in holy matrimony with my beloved. Predictably, I will commemorate this with a blog post.
You know how when you ask a couple how they met, they will either launch into an epic tale that takes at least three hours to recount, or they will merely tell you in one sentence? Well, hopefully, I will reach a happy medium between those two extremes.
Scott and I met in the hot Georgia August of 2003. It was the second week of our freshman year at UGA, and the air was rife with excitement of: “College! Parties! No parents! Freedom!!” I met a girl named Chelsi earlier in the summer during freshman orientation and we had become fast friends. We really bonded over how much we loved dancing. Together, we could tear up a dance floor, y’all. This fateful day, Chelsi and I were primping in her dorm room getting ready for a fun night out when her roommate burst in and declared that there was a dorm room downstairs that was Full. Of. Boys. As in, boys. Chelsi and I rolled our eyes because we were independent women who didn’t go chasing after boys. Obviously. But her roommate was insistent (twist our arms) so we went downstairs to check this boy situation out.