11 May 2011

The Big Unveil

I like to think. Sometimes too much. I think, for example, that in some ways, even though he was against it, my dad is partly responsible for me deciding to be an egg donor.

You see, my dad made me go to the first college I attended out of high school. I wanted to go to Eastern Michigan or Central Michigan or The University of Michigan, but he bribed me. If I went to Northwest State, on a full scholarship, he'd pay for my education when I transferred to a four-year school. So Northwest State it was.

My time at Northwest State has little to do with the story unfolding, both here and elsewhere on the internets, except, in some aspects it has everything to do with it. (Try wrapping your head around that.)

During my last year at Northwest State, I took a trig class. At least I think it was trig. Whatever it was, it was hard and without my handy-dandy calculator, and, I'm not proud to admit, some cheat sheets, I never would have passed. Every day, before that class, I saw a girl sitting on a bench in the hallway. I didn't know her. Never talked to her. Couldn't tell you why I remember her. Only that she was there.

She must have noticed me, too, because the next year, after I transferred to Bowling Green State University, we ran into each other. Actually, she tapped me on the shoulder as I was walking near the seal and asked if she knew me from somewhere. It's gonna sound cheesy, but from them on, we were tight. I didn't know anyone in BG and she had also just transferred, so we were in similar boats. And programs. We were both journalism majors and had an econ class together, which we may have gone to tipsy once or twice.

Except for one strange spell, we've been friends ever since. We've lived together. We worked together. We drank amaretto sours together. She was there the day I met my future husband. I was there the day she needed protection from a thunderstorm. We're friends. I know that sounds like a 'duh', but when I think about it, she's the first friend I ever picked. I didn't have to be her friend. We didn't grow up together or go to the same high school or to the same church. Our parents weren't friends. We're not related. We're just friends. You may know her, too. And, boy, do we have a story for you.

5 comments:

Wendy said...

We love you! I'm so glad we're sharing our story now. It's amazing how EASY it's all coming out. I can't wait to tell more of it!

Sassytimes said...

I think you are an amazing person (and stellar friend).

Mickey D. said...

Chills.

B. said...

You guys are cute

Ky • twopretzels.com said...

AH! I love this!

"Amaretto sours".

(Awesome.)

This is so great.