You know how we met. Late night, orange soda establishment, single girls watching single guys. I liked Corey's face; it distracted me from the plain t-shirt I learned later on that he wears frequently to bed.
My friend Lori: "Hey, what's your name?"
"Cory." (this is how I pictured his name spelled that night)
"Cory, this is my friend Stacie." (i already knew my name was spelled this way)
"Hey. We're going to Hattie's."
And just like that he and his entourage were off. And I was confused.
Was there no connection?
Was there no spark?
Is my hair too frizzy??
Did I unplug the curling iron???
As a self-professed fool for getting the last word in, I followed. I followed a stranger. To a soda establishment. By myself. In the dark. This is a set-up for several gruesome scenarios, the least likely a wedding and a dog...yet here we are! But I digress.
So, I tracked him down at Hattie's. We talked for hours about nothing while I dragged him all over Saratoga. We wandered from one establishment to the next. He even followed me to a certain place I now know he hates where you can drink orange soda and dance on top of tables. Clas-sy. However, we did neither....because I'm not a big fan of soda and there was no room on the tables. But I digress.
At the end of the night he made me take his number too, I guess I can't hide my flaming feminism (shrugs shoulders), and we each drove our separate ways.
What happened the next few months was nothing short of pure entertainment...