Boy meets Girl

In honor of 8 years of marriage, I thought I’d share, the crazy mixed up tale of how Mr. Man and I met, fell in love and eventually “made it official”.

Like most everything in Mandyland, the story is far from normal!

Mr. Man and I met in Germany. He was a serving member of the United States Air Force, and I was a Canadian Military Dependant. Mr. Man was stationed on the same NATO Base as my Dad.

Upon arriving the summer of 2001, to work and bum around Europe, my life changed forever.

We met the first day I arrived. Bleary eyed and fighting jetlag, I’d agreed to join my parents in attending a friend’s BBQ. When we arrived, my parents began introducing me to everyone, and amidst greetings and handshakes, I spotted Mr. Man across the yard.

It was NOT love at first sight…

But I was interested…. just not in that way. My first thought on spying Mr. Man was,

“Finally! Someone my age to hang out with!”

See, up until that point my sources of companionship were looking bleak. My choices were my parents, who although always a blast (see Oh, Oktoberfest? Um, Ya!), were… well… my parents. Or, my 18 year old brother and his stoner buddies…

I was 20… and not a stoner in ANY stretch of the imagination…

So…

Ya.

Now you understand my excitement.

My story of that evening is that Mr. Man and I chatted, and got to know each other a little bit. He talked about going to the clubs later, and I responded that I was totally jetlagged, but maybe another time. It was friendly, nice, and mostly normal.

I vaguely remember a line of conversation centered on wearing a fez and driving a tank…. So ya, definitely MOSTLY normal.

However, if you ask Mr. Man about his impressions of our first meeting… apparently, I was a bitch. Short, shutting down his attempts, cold…
I call bull and insist to this day I was charm personified… well, jetlagged charm at the very least.

As the evening wound to an end, I followed my parents to their vehicle and bid adieu to Mr. Man. I was secretly peeved he hadn’t asked for my number, but I figured we’d run into each other eventually. After all, the base wasn’t that big.

Fast forward about 5 days. Having not yet secured summer employment, and thereby lacking in further social introductions, I was BORED! In a country where the television was all in german and Facebook did not yet exist, I’d resorted to… puzzles.

Yup, you heard me… puzzles.

So, when the phone rang I was sitting at the dining room table attempting to assemble 1500 pieces of obscure European countryside, secure in my party-of-one status.

Imagine my surprise, when my Step-Mom called out that it was for me?!?

Well, I guess I wasn’t as repellent as he claims, because it was Mr. Man, calling to ask me out! After agreeing to call him when I was ready, I had just one question,

“How did you get my number?”

“Oh I asked Paul.” (A friend of my parents and his superior)

Hmmm, interesting. He got points for initiative!

Hanging up the phone, I turned to find my Step-Mom hovering right behind me.

“Who was that?”

“Umm, Mr. Man… you know from the BBQ?”

“How did he get your number?”

“Paul gave it to him.”

Cue Michelle, calling Paul, to rip him a new one for giving her daughter’s number out to strange men. I think she was joking… mostly.

About 45 minutes later, I was ready to roll, and called Mr. Man to pick me up.

“Great! Where do you live?”

“Gangelt, on Mecator Strasse, just off the traffic circle in Gangelt.”

Ha, that’s right! After only one week in Germany I knew exactly where to tell him to go. Just call me a master of directions! Drop me blindfolded in the middle of a field, without compass and map, and my keen sense of direction will guide me back! That’s right! I was practically a savant!!!

“Which traffic circle?”

Um, what? Which traffic circle? There was more than one? There are traffic circles all over the area? Oh, really? Oh, hmmm, well…

(I should probably confess this was only the first of many adventures resulting from an overly confident belief in my “keen” sense of directions. A story for another time…)

At this point, all the members of my family who had lived in Germany for MORE than a week, were out. It was just me and the dog. So, I cobbled together the best directions I could manage, which were generally useless, and had faith that Mr. Man would find me.

And thankfully, he did.

And we had ice cream and beer.

And I spilled my coffee creamer all over the crotch of my pants.

Which, although embarrassing, led to Mr. Man opening my creamer for me for the next 2 months.

During which time we were inseparable.

Which led to…

More to come,

Mandy:)