I had a request for the story of how Robin and I met. Here’s my version. See if you can spot the place where he might tell it differently:
A couple of months after graduating from college, having worked in the real world THAT WHOLE TIME, I got my very first all-by-myself apartment. It was right on a bus line, which was great. I worked in downtown Minneapolis, and it was super simple to rush out the door to the bus every day.
Even better, a lot of the same people rode that bus every day. It seemed that the “regulars” all sat in the back and shared the Variety section of the Star Tribune – the guy who actually subscribed would read aloud the quiz questions, and they’d work out the answers together. It seemed like a fun group.
I started to notice that one of the regulars was following me up to my floor several times a week. After a while, I put two and two together and realized he lived in the building, as well. You know, after he introduced himself to me as we were both letting ourselves in to our respective apartments. (“Hi, I’m Robin. I figured I better introduce myself so you wouldn’t think I was stalking you.” I think he also threw in something about my London Underground key chain to let me know he really noticed me.)
I became one of the bus regulars, overcame the hurdle of the second name on his apartment’s buzzer in the lobby (E. Hinkle = male cousin with whom he shared the place, not the mysterious girlfriend I was imagining), found out he just happened to go to this great church right when I was looking for a new one, overcame the hurdle of him skipping out on me the first time I went to that church (stuck in a snowstorm in Iowa – a likely story), and FINALLY we had our first date on March 10, 2001.
He cooked. I brought dessert.
And the rest is history.