Collared Shirts and Categories: How I Met Your Dad

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A baby blue Polo shirt. That’s what I saw the first time I met your Dad. I tried very hard to ignore his piercing green eyes and charmingly handsome smile. I made myself focus on the collar and color he was wearing.

“Preppy guy, of course, “ I said to myself. We were hanging out with a group of friends from work at a popular downtown spot in Lexington, KY. I saw a guy from my Art class and I struck up a conversation, trying to ignore your Dad. I also tried to ignore the jealous feeling I got when a group of blonde sorority girls screamed out his name and came over to hug him. “See…he’s exactly who you think he is”, I told myself….even though I never once saw him be anything but a gentleman.
I tried to hide from him in between bouts of flirting with him for weeks. We were in college at The University of Kentucky and worked in the restaurant/lounge of a popular downtown hotel. It was an exciting and fun time in our lives. I lived in my own apartment in the heart of the city and had decided to take a break from men because real gentlemen seemed to no longer exist. I’d also defined myself as a certain “type” and had only dated others in that category (wannabe hipsters/artists, etc). Your Dad was way out of my comfort zone, even though I knew he liked me. I just didn’t want to like him back. He was too handsome, too charming…too kind and too well liked by pretty much everyone, including other women. A guy like that could never be good for my insecurities and could never understand my love for The Cure. Looking back, I really think I just felt like I deserved the emotionally crippled and unavailable jerks in my “category”.
But one night your Dad, myself and a night auditor were closing everything up. Earlier, a couple had come in and were telling us all about how they’d met just a week before and decided to get married. The ceremony was that evening. We’d waved to them on their way out of the lobby. They were dressed up and smiling. It was a perfect fit. They had so much in common.
Around 11, the lobby elevator opened up, and the bride collapsed onto the floor. She was screaming, “Help me! He attacked me!” Her wedding gown was torn. Her face was bloody. I rushed to her side and your Dad helped call 911. I spent hours with her, calming her down and talking to the police. She was heartbroken and devastated. I could relate to her disappointment in men and we exchanged our stories while I helped her calm down and speak to the police in her hotel room.
When the elevator opened to the lobby well after 3 am, I dreaded walking through the dark parking lot to my car. But, there was your Dad. He held out his hand and explained that he’d waited for me because he didn’t want me to walk in the dark alone. And that is the night I saw past his “category” and I agreed to go on a date with him. He’s been learning to love The Cure, teaching me about golf and holding my hand in the dark ever since.

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