Where It All Went Wrong

Effectively, this marriage has been in the making since I was 10 years old, when my mum said "We're moving house!" and moved into a little cul-de-sac called Blackmores. One of the first families we met was that of our neighbours, including a little blonde girl my age called Kelly.

Oh, and heads up - loooong post alert!!

And that, as they say, was where it all started to go downhill. We were friends through most of our teenage years, dated when we were 16/17 which ended in a messy fashion after a few months and a case of appendicitis, and from there we lost touch.

Well, I say "Lost Touch" but it was more of the "Never Spoke Again" fashion. Ah, teenage love...

From there, we moved into our own lives, meeting others, moving in, having kids, breakups - the whole shebang. And then, in early 2008, from NOWHERE came the following:

BOO!!!! Hey Dan.... Hows you? It has been years and years... !

Needless to say, I was a little surprised to get a message from her, considering we didn't part company on the best of terms - but it was so long ago, we were just kids, etc etc... So we started chatting on Facebook, catching up, comparing history.

We went from chatting on and off, to chatting almost daily, then we exchanged phone numbers and started texting. Then we spoke on the phone, then we met up for lunch, then lunch became a regular thing. We met up in town one day and headed over to Blackmores - where the 0dd Mum still lives - had lunch, then wandered around our old stomping ground, taking photos and reminiscing.

We met up and spoke more and more, but nothing was going on. We were just meeting up as friends, no more, no less. Then our friends started noticing how much we chatted, how often we text, how we chuckled at something the other said. "Oooooh is that your girlfriend?" would be a regular comment thrown my way, and Kellie was getting the same thing on her side.

Then one fateful weekend, Kellie invited me over. Dinner, watch a movie, have a drink... And everything everyone said over the past months came flooding back. I was a nervous wreck, and started questioning everything, and came to the conclusion that I was, in fact, falling for this slightly bonkers woman.

Uh oh.

So, we had dinner. We had some drinks. We watched a movie. We listened to music. We chatted into the early hours of the night...

Yes yes, I see it NOW...

What Kellie wasn't aware of, was that every time she left the room, I had a mini-meltdown, and was texting Posh Totty. "OhMyGodOhMyGodOhMyGod such-and-such is happening! WHAT DO I DO?!" was the general gist of my messages. I was questioning everything, from how we were sitting, to how we were talking, to the music that was playing.

Oh course, Ms. Posh was very supportive. Her replies ranged from "HAHA LOLOLOL!" to "PMSL look at this funny image!" 

Yes, I still have those emails, you funny f$cker

I was a nervous wreck, and needed to get my head on straight. Sit down with myself, calmly discuss with my brain what I was thinking, where my head was at, where my heart was at and so on. A nice, quiet, chilled out weekend.

Instead, I went to stay with Posh Totty. Along with three other slightly deranged women, Jenny, Lynzi and Becky, as well as Mr Posh and the Posh Son.

And instead of sitting and thinking calmly, we went to a pub opening. And had lots to drink. And the more alcohol I was plied with, the more I thought about Kellie. And the more I missed Kellie. And the more I text Kellie. And then, with more alcohol, we decided to head, not back to the Posh Palace, but to a club.

Where I was plied with MORE alcohol. And text Kellie even more. And realised I really missed her. And, of course, being with a gaggle of drunk chicks, they were all ever so supportive. "Tell her how you feel" and "Go on son!" and similar comments, ranging from a Kentish accent to some strange Yorkshire accent. And, of course, Posh Tottys very very snobby accent.

We went back to the house, all rather tipsy - I even managed to drop half a cheeseburger directly onto my phone - and I carried on texting Kellie. I told her I was quite drunk. That I think I liked her more than just a friend. That I missed her. That I wished she were here too...

Uh oh.

Then, it struck. I came down with a full-blown case of ManFlu. And to prove there was no feelings other than "Just Friends" and by doing what any other "Just a Friend" would do, Kellie should have text me a "Get Well Soon" and maybe sent my some sympathy via Facebook. You know, what any other normal friend would do.

That is what should have happened. However, Kellie decided to get on a bus, trek over to my house, and sit with me all day while I was coughing and spluttering and feeling very sorry for myself.

Yeah, just friends...

I was so ready to tell her exactly how I felt. But the germs must have scrambled my brains, because instead of saying "Look, Kellie, I like you, and you seem to like me, why don't we go out on a date" what actually came out was... Err... Nothing. Instead, I sat beside her on the sofa. We watched Cartoon Network together.

All. Day.

I decided enough was enough, I'm going to make my move! But the germs and stuff messed with my muscular system, because instead of moving my body towards her, I moved... My pinky finger. And placed it on her leg. And I just... Sat there. I was touching her with my finger, and maybe gently moved it against her thigh.

She didn't pull away. She didn't slap me. She didn't tell me to not do it.

So I stayed there.

And when she had to leave, I watched her walk down the street till she was out of sight.

Oh shit.

The following weekend, Kellie should have sat down, and placed her thoughts in order, tried to work out what she wanted, worked out the different signals from her brain and her heart.

Instead, she went to a wedding. Where she was plied with booze. And during that evening, I was getting progressively-drunker texts... Texts that seemed somewhat... Familiar... That she was drunk, that she missed me, that she wished I was there, and that she think she liked me more than just a friend.

And little did I know that on her side, she was being egged on by her supportive friends... "Tell him how you feel!" and "Go on love!"

So, once she sobered up, we decided to meet up on Monday and to go for a drink, to sit and to chat. Work out what we were doing, what we wanted and all the rest of it. Thus commenced the longest Sunday/Sunday Night/Monday Morning of all time.

Well, except for last Friday that is. But I digress.

The journey over to Canvey - a journey of about 40 minutes - took about three millennium. I was hot, sweaty and clammy. And it had nothing to do with the weather. I knocked on her front door, we said our hellos, and we headed to the pub. Just in time for it to open.

We then sat in the pub garden for three hours, talking, comparing notes, admitting that, yes, we did in fact have feelings for one another, and that, yes, there was something there.

We left the pub holding hands.

And I had received a sun burnt face. And had a girlfriend.

The rest, as they say, is history. Twenty Six years after meeting that little blonde girl, I married her, and can now officially call "The Girl Next Door" "My Wife"