Fifteen years ago today, my wife asked me out. That we’re still together is a fact which continues to astound me.
At the age of 17, I was beginning to despair of ever finding someone to love. I’d had plenty of crushes on other girls, but the feeling was never mutual. I was friends with plenty of them, but that’s probably because I was the safe option – they knew I’d never try anything on, so they were comfortable around me. I sat next to a girl on the bus to college almost every day, and we used to talk most of the way there. I’ve no idea whether she even knew I liked her, because I simply didn’t have the courage to say anything.
So I’m incredibly glad that Mel told me how she felt, because if it was up to me, I might never have told her the same. I’d probably still be wondering whether she was interested fifteen years on. Again, we were friends before we started going out, and I was really wary of saying anything lest it affect our friendship. When she popped the question at the bus stop just up the road from my house, I was so taken aback that I mumbled a few words and walked off. It wasn’t until I phoned her later on that I said I’d love to spend some more time with her.
And fifteen years later, here we are. Happily married for almost eight of those years, with four as parents of a wonderfully caring, handsome and bright little boy. Sure, it’s sometimes been for poorer rather than richer, and recently in sickness rather than in health, but really I couldn’t be happier that I’ve been lucky enough to spend my entire adult life with the woman I love.