it all started with a mustache

I’m going to “out” my husband here.  You see, he used to sport a full-on Mike Ditka Chicago style mustache.  You know what I’m talking about, right?  A bushy upper lip from which the words “da Bears” and “da Bulls” and “da Cubs” are issued forth.  A mustache accompanied by a hard “KA” in the middle of Chicago.  Chi-KAAA-go.

 

Our first meeting took place in Dallas.  Neither of us lived there.  It was the site for one of our company’s off-site professional development seminars.  He traveled there from the Chicago office.  I flew in from New York.  And to tell you the truth, I couldn’t get past the stash.  Oh, and I had a Dallas-based fighter pilot on the mind …

 

but that’s a story for another day. 

 

It was on our second meeting – just about one year later – that I took notice.

 

No.  That’s not the whole story.  I actually took notice before I even boarded that southbound plane to Florida for yet another off-site professional development workshop.  He captured my heart with his words.  And his humor.  Articulated on a pre-seminar bio that we all prepared in advance of our week-long management training trip.  The bio writing had become something of a contest in creativity.  And Mike’s bio sang to me.  I read it and re-read it and re-read it again.  I forced it upon my roommates to read.  And then I re-read it aloud to them, pointing out all those lines that I found so funny … and endearing.

 

And all thoughts of that Ditka-style mustache were forgotten.

 

Flash forward to our first night in Florida.  Just about everyone had arrived.  Everyone but Mike.  We were gathered at a meet-and-greet cocktail reception.  I was distracted.  I kept watching the door.  Waiting.  Watching and waiting for Mike to arrive …

 

Panic began to set in.  What if Mike wasn’t coming after all?  What if I didn’t get a chance to tell him in person how much his bio sang to me?  Sang to my heart?  About that odd connection I formed with a sheet of 8 1/2 x 11 paper on which his words were typed.  A Xeroxed copy of his prose …

 

… and then …. finally … he arrived.  Flustered and distracted.

 

And mustache-less.

 

Wow.  He looked so handsome without that bushy Ditka-style mustache on his upper lip.  Clean shaven with a dimple in his chin.  And those eyes.  Those crystal clear blue eyes that dazzled me from clear across the room.

 

I casually made my way over. Stopping to chat and laugh with co-workers along the way.  I was trying to be nonchalant.  Carefree.  But, surely, he must be feeling the same pull as I?  That same draw.  When I finally arrived at his side, I said something about how much I enjoyed his bio.  And how good he looked without his mustache.  And when our eyes met, blue eyes looking into blue eyes  …

 

he shrugged.

 

 I think there may have been a “Hmmm.”  And he turned away.

 

Seriously.

 

I just stood there.  Crushed.  All those plans I built up in my head about our fabulous future together came tumbling down.  The sound of breaking glass echoed in my head.

 

My soul mate didn’t share my soul.

 

So how, you ask, did we finally end up together?  No, brainwashing was not involved.  Or hog tying, bribing, or drugs.

 

As the week in Florida progressed, Mike’s opened up. And he shared. Turns out he almost didn’t come.  He was furious with our company.  Outraged.  They had just let go one of his best friends.  Not just let go.  But passed him over for a promotion he deserved.  Worked hard for.  Dedicated close to a decade to the company in anticipation for — only to be “let go” by the person they chose over him.

 

And that’s when I understood.  It wasn’t a matter of us not being “meant to be.”  His soul — and his heart — were preoccupied.  Filled with concern for his friend.

 

The last night in Florida was a night and day difference from that first night.  This time, after a grueling week, we gathered at a local club to let loose.  Mike never left my side. We talked.  We drank.  We laughed.  We danced.

 

We shared a cab back with some co-workers.  And when we arrived, Mike and I held back.  Falling behind as the others said their good nights.

 

When we arrived at building where I was staying, we said goodnight.  With a kiss.

 

The first of many goodnight kisses to follow …

 

 

 

Oh, and the mustache has remained a thing of the past.

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