I met Kit on a Friday at a bar downtown, on the night I was celebrating my twenty-second birthday. It was like a scene in a cheesy romantic comedy where we spotted each other from across a crowded room and seemingly kept making eye contact throughout the evening until we finally worked up the nerve to introduce ourselves. He was completely adorable, but he had one of those country handlebar moustaches—it looked out of place and like it didn’t fit his personality.
After chatting a good part of the evening we did a swapping of the cell numbers and went our separate ways. Kit called me for the first time that Sunday afternoon, and I thought he was about to ask me on a date for the next weekend when he instead asked if we could get together later that very evening. We met downtown and he asked if I wanted to go back to his house to watch a movie. He told me that he had two female roommates [which I was never jealous about because even though they were both quite attractive, the fact remains that they are horrible people—which has no relevance to this story, but I was just overwhelmed with the want to put that out there because I have never publicly announced how much I truly dislike them] who were home and promised that they would come in and club him if he tried any “funny business.” Why shouldn’t I trust this complete stranger, right!?
This is my elementary-skill drawing of how Kit looked in the beginning.
We have all seen this guy before; although it is usually a higher quality sketch
and is incorporated into a news story instead of a blog
about how someone met their husband.
Since I was just assured that we wouldn’t be completely alone, I agreed to follow him “just up the road” to his house. Along the way I began thinking about how I do not know this person at all or where the hell he really was leading me, so I called one of my girlfriends who was at the bar with me two evenings prior and had also met Kit that night. I explained to her that I was following him to his house to watch a movie, and then I proceeded to give her the make and model of his car along with his license plate number. I told her to call me at exactly 11 p.m., and if I didn’t answer, call the police and then call my mother. Yeah, like that could have really prevented him from putting me down in a pit then repeatedly demanding I keep putting lotion on my body, only so he could later skin me and wear me as an outfit while dancing around and applying Chap Stick.
Twenty-ish minutes later we arrived in front of his [completely dark and empty] house. My first impulse was to keep driving. This guy that I didn’t know at all had just lied to me, and I was gullible enough to trust him in the first place. He said two roommates would be at the house, and yet there were no lights on, not even a porch light, and there wasn’t one car in the driveway or in front of the house. For all I knew, this guy had women buried all over his backyard. The wise and rational thing to do would have been to keep driving and go home or at least insist that we go some place public instead.
So, naturally my newly twenty-two year old self parked and went into the house alone with him. The house was actually charming and I didn’t smell carcass. There were two living rooms—a dainty one for the girls and then Kit’s den. His was a poorly-lit room covered with horror movie posters on the walls and action figures of Leatherface, Freddy Krueger, Jason, Michael Myers and, sadly, many others on every flat surface. This would have been another reason to leave and never return, and yet I stayed…
We did end up watching a movie and when 11 p.m. came around, my girlfriend called. I told her everything was fine, but please retain the information I had given her earlier—you know, just in case. Eventually the two roommates came home—as it turned out, they were planning to be home that evening like Kit had said, but they decided last minute to go out for a bit. Eventually all of my anxiety about whether or not I was on a date with a serial killer faded away. He asked me on an official “out on the town” date that next weekend, and four years later we got married.
Looking back, I can hardly believe the chance I took on a complete stranger [with that moustache especially]. It is interesting to remember instances where we made decisions that turned out just fine, but had circumstances been different, we could have really ended up in trouble. My twenty-nine year old self would have definitely kept driving, but suppose if I had on that night nearly seven years ago…
Unfortunately I took no photo of Kit’s moustache that lasted only three weeks into our relationship, but here are a few of his other experiments in facial hair throughout the years…