The second time I encountered my husband…

…I was twenty-one years old, a senior in college. He was nineteen, a sophomore in college in New York.

This time when he came to visit his cousin, Kerry, still my roommate, he drove out with a friend and his friend’s father.

I’m ashamed to say I have basically no recollection of Liam’s being on campus that weekend. However, I do remember fondly some of the memories he has of the time.

He remembers walking from our off-campus apartment early Saturday morning of the football game to a tailgate party. He says for most of the walk I drug along beside me a six-foot-long stick, speaking loudly as I did so, while every now and then inserting the stick into the street and tempting drivers to run parts of it over. Sad to say, this sounds about right according to my memory.

He also recalls that our group of friends had in our possession that day, a small, purple and pink hand-knitted, voodoo type doll, which we passed off to each other from time to time. He found this to be a bit odd, I think.

The doll’s name was Lucy, and she belonged to my friend, Brigid, who I think had acquired her in Ireland from a loony nun in some kind of monastery. The details on this are not clear.

What is clear, however, is that Lucy was our mascot. We brought her creepy self with us wherever we went and she featured in many of our photo ops. I wonder where she is today. Lucy would love some selfie action, I think.

How Liam could have thought we were anything but absurd, wildly immature, and totally silly is beyond me.

I wonder, if someone would have asked him then, tagging along in the street behind some half-witted, hungover, co-ed, wielding a long stick, if he could imagine marrying that girl, what he would have said. How about: You’ve got to be kidding, right?

IMG_2766A few friends with some cheap beers, and a dive-photo-bombing Lucy doll in the background.


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