Actually, it's just one memory that hit me really powerfully as I was reading Sisyphus' thoughts on graduate school parties (as opposed to faculty parties) just now. I'm not sure why this in particular came to me, but it's kinda funny and totally says volumes about...well, me in grad school and the early days if TD's and my relationship.
Picture a snowy night in late March of 2001. TD and I had been hanging out a lot since Feb 9th, when we met. Initially, we had Fraught Issues (i.e., he had a girlfriend back in Holland who he'd just started dating before he left to come to the States for a year exchange), so we were just friends. And, apparently, were secretly falling into deep luuuuuuv. Alcohol was a big part of grad school parties, of course, so at this point, there was a bunch of us in the kitchen of JG's apartment doing lemon drop shots and listening to Thriller. TD and I were talking and laughing as just friends and he made a joke and then turned to get more lemons and I began to laugh so hard that I ended up falling on the floor and rolling (yes, rolling. Like a billiard ball) under the kitchen table. He pulled me out by my foot and asked if I'd hit my head. I wasn't feeling much of anything at that point, so I somehow (in between giggles and snorts) indicated that I hadn't. Then he said, "I think I'm in love with you."
Boing! Beginnings of sobriety...
What followed was an Intense and Emotional discussion about What To Do! It was epic in the way that only *schooltime* love can be - I remember saying that even though I was an "American harpy stealing him away from the bosom of his homeland" (I told you: epic), I was morally certain that he shouldn't go back at the end of the year, but should stay here for grad school where we could feather our love nest (to be honest, he had already begun to think about staying for the full Ph.D. even in the fall semester before we met).
So, the rest is history. But I will share one more tidbit from the very first night we met at a grad student social hour. We said "hi" and I asked him where he was from (he hadn't been in the country that long - I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd still been wearing wooden shoes). Then he asked me where I was from and when I told him, he got a look of rapture on his pure little un-American face and cried out,
"Oh! Are you a redneck??"Apparently, he'd been watching King of the Hill and really, really wanted to meet one.
How can you not love that?