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I’m Louise. Blogger. Wife. Designer of TruLu Couture Veils + Accessories.  If you’d like to know more, check out my bio.

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Lip Strength

I had a post all ready in my head for today. It was about how after 3 months of loafing, work-out wise, that I went back to the gym. Finally. It was going to be about how my armpits ache from lifting weights. How my sides are screaming at me from doing side crunches. Shoulder blades from swimming, calf muscles from the elliptical - all aching. And how I had to finally find a gym (the YMCA) because I was getting...mooshy. Not fat. I haven't gained weight. But stuff is shifting and hanging and my clothes feel funny and I HATE when my clothes feel weird. So this post was going to be all about that and what going back to the gym can do to a person's psyche.

But then last night The Candyman and I were snuggling into our bed together and he did something to inspire a different kind of post.

As we snuggled down together in our giant, comfy Bed of Love, I grabbed my latest book assuming The Candyman would put on what he calls his Zsa-Zsa's (what he wears to get to sleep while I read. You can see them here.). Instead, he said he wanted to do some reading too. He reached into the drawer of his nightstand and I couldn't imagine what he was digging around in there for. What was in that drawer anyway? You know what he pulled out? Greeting cards. Yes, that's right, greeting cards. They were old cards that I've given to him over the years for birthdays, Valentine's Day, whatever. He carefully pulled out each card and read whatever sentimental notion I had written him at the time. He was all smiles and cooing (in the most manly of ways, of course) and after we has done reading, he donned his Zsa-Zsa's and snuggled up while I read my book.

And I thought to myself, "This guy is SUCH a keeper." And then I started thinking about whether or not I thought that when we first met.

I definitely knew The Candyman was different. As most of you regular readers know, I totally picked The Candyman up on-line. If you're new to T30SB, you can grab the back-story here. There were moments in that first blind date that were definitely different than other blind dates.

First, The Candyman was a little late for our date, which I know now, is weird. That boy is the epitome of punctual. So, I was waiting for him to get there (with all the anxiety of "is he going to show up" knotted up in my tummy) and I was sitting directly next to the entrance, as that was the only place to sit and wait since the bar was absolutely packed. The Candyman flew into the restaurant and right past me, using his full 6'6" height to scan the restaurant. He was clearly flustered. He wandered into the bar, looking...searching, his head snapping left and right as he made his way through the crowded bar. The whole time I sat rooted to my chair just watching him look for me. There was no intended malice, or any real reason why I didn't stand up and make it easy for him to find me. I just sat and watched with a stupid little grin on my face. Finally, he turned around and found me. He saw me smiling and a slow, easy grin came to his face as he walked, nay sauntered, over to where I was and greeted me for the first time.

After that first date, I didn't see him for several weeks. I'd warned him of this. I had a crazy job. Commitments. Trips to take. People coming in from out of town. "I am a busy girl," I told him over the phone. "My dad is coming in for the weekend so I can't see you again for a while." I figured that a few weeks of waiting after one pretty good date would send him back to Match.com to find a more accessible kind of girl. It had happened many, many times before so I was actually expecting it.  That weekend, as I was driving around town with my dad, my phone rang. It was The Candyman. I thought it odd that he was calling since he knew my Dad was in town. I made small talk in front of my pops and told him I'd call him when I got back home. After I got my dad situated with the remote control and a martini, I bolted up the stairs to call The Candyman. I felt like I was 14 years old again, calling boys while my parents suspiciously eyed me from the other room, pretending not to listen, but totally eavesdropping.  Our conversation was easy and comfortable. The Candyman has a thick North Carolina accent that can be quite soothing at times. I felt soothed. As a rule, Type A personality disorder doesn't include the word "soothing."

In that conversation, The Candyman told me that for our second date, he wanted time with me. He said something along the lines of, "I don't want to meet you at 7 o'clock, just to spend a few hours with you. I want to spend the day with you." Whoa. Really? With me? So that's what we did. I met him early in the afternoon and we went to see an exhibit at The Frist Museum. Then we went out to dinner at The Tin Angel. Then we went to see a band play at The Family Wash. I remember sitting on a bar stool, watching the musicians play. I was getting tired, so I leaned my head on The Candyman's shoulder. It was definitely not a move I'd made before. I wasn't even really conscious that I had done it until The Candyman leaned his head down and murmured, "Mmmmm...tenderness." I snapped my head back up, determined not to show weakness! Tenderness was for the meek and girly and stupid! I would not be those things! NO! I was conflicted. It was an unusual feeling for me.

When we parted ways at our cars late that night, The Candyman planted one on me. And I mean, planted one on me. I can't even find the words to describe how that kiss went. We still joke about that kiss. It was very passionate and came a little bit out of left field. It surprised me; shocked me even. As I was driving home, I kept thinking of the lines from the movie Pretty in Pink:

Iona: Does he have... strong lips?
Andie: How can you tell?
Iona: Did you feel it in your knees?
Andie: I felt it everywhere.
Iona: Strong lips.
Iona: I know I'm old enough to be his mother, but when the Duck laid that kiss on me last night, I swear my thighs just went up in flames! He must practice on melons or something.

When I ask him now why he attacked me with his lips that night, he tells me that he wanted to make sure I knew he was serious. That he liked me. That he really wanted to kiss me a lot more. And now, with time, a wedding, jobs lost and gained, a move to a new state and everything else behind us, I still really like to kiss The Candyman. Whether a fleeting, "I'm going to work now" kind of kiss to the amorous ones that lead elsewhere, I still really like to kiss The Candyman. Wait, did I mention that already? Strong lips, indeed.

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Reader Comments (7)

What's a post without a pic? How about some engagement images?

February 8, 2011 | Unregistered CommenterSharon


February 8, 2011 | Unregistered Commenterflo

what a sweet and ooey-gooey post in the raddest of ways...i love your story and you two are so beautiful together! every so often, isaiah and i sit on the floor and dig through our first love letters...it's always such a sweet moment, i know that must've felt very surreal and "lucky"!

February 8, 2011 | Unregistered Commenterlizzie

I. Love. This. Post. (That is all.)

February 8, 2011 | Unregistered CommenterSarah


February 8, 2011 | Unregistered CommenterSharon

Aw... this is the sweetest post ever! Love it!

February 9, 2011 | Unregistered CommenterAmyJean {Relentless Bride}

This might be my favorite post you've written. I relate to a lot of that "No I am not going to be a meek girly-girly!" and then doing it accidentally. I burst into tears when my now-husband told me he was moving away, though we'd only dated for a month. I kept saying "I SWEAR I'm not the kind of girl who cries all the time..."

February 9, 2011 | Unregistered CommenterMargaret

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