G’marnin’!  Today is mine and Steve’s first anniversary, I think.  We celebrated March 31st, the date of our first date, but today is something special.  And, if I may say so, it’s a much better story.

It all began when I decided in the middle of my junior year that I absolutely had to have drinks with one of my professors.  Alright, fine, I’m a sucker for men with PhDs.  Sue me.  So I spent an entire semester working up to this.  In the mean time, I had re-joined OKCupid, and a dashing young bearded PhD student had recognized me from my coffee shop job.  Our relationship was just getting off the ground when I was invited to imbibe with the professor at a campus bar, at 3pm.

One beer turned into two as 3pm rolled into 4.  By 5, he’d convinced me to invite Steve to join us, and he invited his girlfriend.  When Steve joined us, I’d had 2.5 beers, and made him drink the last .5, thinking I would stop there.  Oh no.  No, no.  Shot pitchers – essentially giant mixed drinks made with bottom shelf liquor – were ordered.  More shot pitchers were ordered.  Lemon drops were dropped.  It was 8pm, and Steve convinced me it might be time to ease off.  We made our way to his office.

While we were picking up the rest of his belongings, I channelled my inner sexy secretary and tried to seduce him.  I imagine this was much less smooth than I thought it was at the time.  The office also had a clear glass door, so I didn’t get very far.  I did, however, manage to slur, “Are you seeing anyone else?  Do you want to see anyone else?”  No to each.  I was very happy, and still very drunk.  We made our way out to catch the bus.

As Steve tells it, one minute I was reaching into my bag for my student ID, and the next minute I was face down on the ground, bleeding from both nostrils.  I actually do not remember this at all.  Gentleman that he is, he helped me up, and at least attempted to get me safely onto the bus.  I wrestled out of his grasp and hit my face once more, against the railings on the bus.  Bless this man’s soul, for he displays infinite patience.

We walk into my apartment, where I announce that I had been out with said professor, then immediately run into my room, take all of my clothes off, and lie face down on my bed.  This is the part where I also have to include a little aside about how much bullshit rape culture is full of.  There I was, practically blacked out, almost naked, and Steve sat beside me and rubbed my back while I slept it off.  What a mighty, mighty good man.

At some point, he asked me if he could leave.  I said yes, then texted him an hour later asking him to come back.  Because he’s a saint, he did, and he stayed the night with me until I woke up the next morning and vomited up everything I’d consumed in the last 24 hours, which was mostly clear alcohol.  Then, he tried to tutor me in microeconomics so I wouldn’t fail my final the next day.

Now, if I were him, I would not have put up with all of that bullshit.  But I’m really glad that he did, because this year with him has been the happiest year I’ve ever had.  Besides the fact that my nose is now crooked.