Kind Like Katey

I guess if I’m going to tell stories about my husband on this blog, I should probably introduce him.

His name is Stacy.

Yes, Stacy. 😂

He always jokes about having a girl’s name. When he introduces himself, he’ll sometimes say, “I’m Stacy. Like the girl.”

So when you see Stacy showing up in my stories—and trust me, he will—that’s my husband.

But before Stacy and I ever started dating, my mom already knew him.

She had worked with him before I did.

And she did not like him.

Not one damn bit. 😂

In fact, I remember her telling me that she didn’t care who I dated as long as it wasn’t Stacy.

Well.

We see how well that worked out.

Her problem with Stacy was that he wasn’t afraid to speak his mind. If he thought something, there was a pretty good chance you were going to know about it.

My mom apparently interpreted that particular personality trait as: asshole.

😂

Then I started working with him.

We started taking our breaks together. We’d sit and talk, and somewhere along the way those breaks became something I really looked forward to.

Eventually, we swapped phone numbers.

Stacy gave me his landline because he didn’t have a cell phone yet.

That first night, we talked for hours.

And I mean hours.

We talked about anything and everything. I couldn’t tell you now what all we talked about, but I remember how easy it was. We just kept talking. There was always something else to say.

Somewhere during that conversation, we planned our first date.

Stacy picked me up, and it’s funny what your brain decides to hang onto for more than 20 years.

I remember exactly what we were wearing.

I had on a white skirt and a pink shirt.

He had on a blue polo.

Stacy has really pretty eyes, and blue makes them pop. Apparently I noticed those eyes pretty early because I can still picture him in that shirt.

He took me to Texas Roadhouse.

I had coconut shrimp.

I have absolutely no idea what Stacy ate.

I know damn well it didn’t have tomatoes because the man hates tomatoes. And if I had to guess, it was probably a steak because he loves steak.

But do I actually remember?

Nope.

I remember my coconut shrimp. 😂

After dinner, neither one of us was ready for the night to be over, so we drove around for a while.

Eventually, we ended up at a park.

And, well…

Some parts of a first date don’t need to be shared on the internet. 😂

That part can stay between Stacy and me.

What I will tell you is that I really didn’t want that night to end.

I didn’t want him to take me home yet. I liked being with him. We had already spent hours talking on the phone, gone to dinner, driven around, ended up at that park…and I still wanted more time with him.

At the time, I had no idea what was ahead of us.

I didn’t know we’d buy an acre of land and build a house. I didn’t know we’d get married. I didn’t know all the good, hard, funny, sad and completely ridiculous shit life was going to throw at us.

I just knew I really liked this guy from work.

The guy my mother had specifically told me not to date.

The guy who gave me his landline number.

The guy in the blue polo with the pretty eyes.

The guy who probably ordered a steak.

Stacy.

Like the girl. 😂

More than 20 years later, there are plenty of things about that first date I’ve forgotten.

But I remember what we wore.

I remember the coconut shrimp.

I remember that park. 😏

And most of all, I remember not wanting the night to end.

Sorry, Mom.

I dated Stacy.