Miss Wisabus

Now, this is the story all about how…

Just kidding. But I do know every single word to the Fresh Prince of Bel Air theme song. It’s gotten me a long way in life, as you can probably tell.

This is something I’ve been meaning to write for a long time. It is “The Story of How I Met My Husband, Long-Form.” I’m pretty sure most people know the short version — went to school, hung out for a few years, met this dude who was a senior in high school when I was in 8th grade, got married.

I was blogging the entire time we were dating, but I never ever talked about our relationship. It may amaze you that I managed that sort of restraint, however, it never occurred to me that writing about it while it was happening would be appropriate. In reality, I’m very talented at freaking people out and the last thing I wanted to do was scare this fairly normal, upstanding, Christian guy away.

Ours is an interesting story. I hear all the time from people who knew us both before we dated that they never would have pictured us together — and I get that. Neither would I. But together? It’s like when you find a good contrasting color to paint one wall in a room, one that by itself maybe doesn’t look like it will belong with the main color, but then you put them together and stand back to take it all in and say, “Huh. It works somehow.”

I’ve established the TV and movies that I feel represent our relationship the best. It’s sorta like Son-In-Law in the situation (only that Kevin is nothing like Pauly Shore and I didn’t come home from my first year of college donning fish-nets and brassy bottle-blond hair…but you know, other than that); like My Big Fat Greek Wedding in that…well, have you met my family? We’re not Greek, but I think if you threw an accent on us all and encouraged us to break china you wouldn’t be able to see much difference. And at this stage in our lives it’s something like Green Acres, only reverse. I’m definitely the one who wants to move (back) to the country and farm. And Kevin tells me I’m responsible for the feeding of the goat and chickens because he wants no part of it.

There’s a little bit of Big Valley thrown in, but lest anyone start thinking I want my husband dead and the responsibility of running a whole ranch on my hands, I’m going to leave that one out for now.

Only here’s the deal — I’ve got no idea what to call this little series of mine. I’m working on a name and I’ve got a few possibilities floating around in my head, but I’m going to let you, the reader, tell me which one you prefer. That post will be later today or tomorrow, but right now I want to open it up to your suggestions.

What do you think would be a good name for the series about how I met my husband?