It's Me, Sara Louise

[2008]

Today is my third wedding anniversary and as it is, I feel like the time has finally come to tell you the story of how The Husband became The Husband, as in, how I met a French boy named Gregory and followed him back to France. I need to warn you though, this won’t be any wham, bam, thank you ma’am kind of post. This is going to be a long one, because how we met was kismet, and since you can’t rush kismet, I have to tell you all of it, all of the itty bitty gritty details, because the kismet was in the details. So this will be part one, of an as yet to be determined number of parts.

It was Friday the 28th of November, 2008. Because it was a Friday I was working, but because I had a butt load of vacation days left to take before the end of the year, I took a half day to do some Christmas shopping. As I was walking out of the office, my coworkers reminded me that there was a drink thing that night at Dicey’s (there was always an after work drinks thing). I told them that I would see them there, but inside I was pretty sure I wouldn’t. The last thing I wanted to do after an afternoon of shopping would be to turn around and head right back into town. No, it was definitely a Chinese takeaway/ DVD/ bottle of wine kind of night.

So why then a little after 7PM did I find myself sitting in traffic heading back into town? The answer is kismet. Here’s the thing, not only was I headed back into town, which was basically something I never did (if I was already out that was one thing, but to go home after work and then go back out, no way. That’s what Saturdays were for) plus, it was raining. All signs normally pointed to staying in. Clearly Mr. Destiny had other ideas because unbeknownst to me at the time, there was a French boy who had moved to Dublin only three days before, just waiting to meet me. Only he didn’t know it yet either.

I arrived at Dicey Reilly’s beer garden and met up with everybody. They were already two hours into pints and Jägerbombs… not the best for conversation and it didn’t take me long to remember why I didn’t really enjoy these things. And then I got a text. It was from my brother’s girlfriend. She was asking me if I wanted to pop over for a drink. Me being on Harcourt Street and her being not too far away at their apartment on Pembroke, I decided to abandon my coworkers, and skedaddled on over to Ballsbridge (that’s where Pembroke Road is).

But here’s the thing… as I was leaving, everyone was asking me why I was going, and made me promise that I would return. So I promised, but with my fingers crossed. Because why oh why would I leave a bar, only to return to it a couple of hours later. Because it was kismet.

bisou