I met my hubby the week before I graduated high school. I was a fresh-faced 18 year old girl, completely naive to the world and getting ready to make the big move to college. I didn't party, drink or smoke, and wore a nun's habit under my jeans and sweatshirts. Hubby, on the other hand, was the king of the partying world and could do a keg stand like no one's business. I know this because he told me so - and then about 10 of his friends verified this information at our wedding reception. It's always nice to get the information after the vows have been read and certificate signed - but I digress.

We were at opposite ends of the worldly spectrum and thanks to a good friend in high school (now known as "Aunt Dina"), our worlds collided one fateful night. Because the statute of limitation has passed, I can safely tell the story of the night we met without fear that Grandpa D would mortally wound or at least maim Hubby.

Aunt Dina and I were good friends in high school. She recognized the fact that I was painfully socially stilted at the ripe 'ol age of 18 and I needed rescue from a life of impending boredom and lonely nights. She predicted I'd live and die alone, with a dozen or so cats named after political figures, unless I changed my ways. She also feared I'd never leave the sanctity of my dorm room should I not "tie one on" prior to leaving Humboldt.

Because of this, Aunt Dina took me under her wing and made it her duty to defile my sober being with a drunken slumber party. The plan was simple; bring $10 and her older brother (Hubby) would buy us the best booze that $20 could offer. I would then spend the night at her house and leave the next morning no worse for wear. It was a well thought out and coordinated plan, with tons of aspirin and a clean toilet bowl in case my first round with booze didn't agree.

Before I get ahead of myself, one thing you must realize is that I had previously met Hubby at a scholarship dinner. Actually, we never technically had a conversation other than for a few traded glances and I think he might have said something about the party dress I was wearing. I knew that secretly he thought I was rocking the huge rhododendron print and puffy sleeves on that ugly ass dress but he'll never admit it. On thing I remember is that he had great skin for a guy (my mom was an Avon lady, don't you think I'd notice skin?), and he was very good looking. He smiled a lot during the dinner and I remember the people around him laughing quite a bit at whatever he was saying. I did get a couple of the smiles directed my way but he tells me it was only out of pity, since he had some goofy looking high school senior ogling him. I beg to differ.

I also had actually spoken to him on a few occasions when I had to call Aunt Dina. I hated calling Aunt Dina for the plain fact that Hubby would read me the riot act whenever I called. He totally embarrassed and intimidated me and I thought he was such a jerk. A cute jerk, but a jerk none the less. I knew I'd have to deal with him on this fateful night because he was the only one over the age of 21 that could buy the hooch. I was sort of obliged to pretend that I enjoyed his company. With an attitude like that, he was lucky he was good looking.

Like I said, I had never drank before, other than when my dad would have us kids get him a beer and whoever got it for him would get the first swig. After all, we're talking about the mid-80's here, when cigarettes and Chinese toys were still good for kids. A swig off my dad's beer or a gulp of my mom's finest Gallo wine (complete in the fancy jug) was actually a family bonding experience (just an FYI, my parents haven't drank in over 20+ years and I'm very proud of them - I guilted myself into saying that).

The day of the party arrived and I was very nervous and felt as though I was hungover without the benefits of getting a good drink on first. I didn't want my first drinking experience to be away at college but I was still scared crapless to do it just in the company of my buddy. Would I be a happy drunk? Would I get mean and beat up her sofa or even worse, break a dinner plate? I was freaking out!

When the evening finally came, I drove my fancy B-210 Datsun down to Aunt Dina's house with money in hand. She informed me we had to pick up Hubby since he was attending a wedding reception nearby. Great. I was totally thrilled at the aspect that we now had to crash a wedding reception in order to get our illegal alcohol buyer. Didn't I mention before I was a goody two-shoes? This was killing me! The guilt I felt was oozing from my pores and I just knew that everyone around me knew I was trying to break the law.

I begrudgingly rode to the wedding reception with Aunt Dina and it was there I met my mother-in-law for the first time. She was sitting at the table refusing to dance with Hubby, who was already plastered and getting his best John Travolta moves out on the dance floor. His boyish, yet strikingly handsome face, was flushed red and sweaty, and he had this goofy grin on his face. He pointed at us and gave Aunt Dina and I a little wave which he then incorporated into some sort of chicken dance he was attempting to maneuver. He called for us to join him and I quickly sat down refusing to participate in his injured chicken routine. Aunt Dina joined him on the dance floor and I was left in the company of my future mother-in-law. She and I proceeded to make fun of her baby boy and to this day, I swear I saw some sort of dim light bulb go off in Hubby's head when he saw us laughing. It was a match made in Heaven, as Hubby would later say...to be continued.