It was 33 years ago today that I married my bestest buddy and love of my life. We’d always referred to ours as an arranged marriage because my dad introduced us when I flew to Saudi Arabia, where Mom and Dad were working. Freddie was my dad’s lead cost engineer, and he used to come into Dad’s office, pick up my picture (which was one of those gawd-awful mall photos that you win in a drawing), saying, “Is this the girl I’m in love with?” What a suck up, though he swears he was being honest. Yah. Right.
But Dad thought the world of him and introduced us the summer I came to visit. A few months later, Freddie decided not to renew his contract, telling Dad, “What can I say? I’m going to go home and woo your daughter.” Dad wasn’t sure whether to be ticked at losing his lead cost engineer, or be jazzed to be gaining a really cool son-in-law.
Ten months later, we got married. When Freddie proposed that prior January, I’d only known him six months, and three of those had him in Saudi. Looking back on it, I question my sanity. I mean, spending forever with someone you’ve only really been with for seven-ish months must mean there’s a loose screw running free in my head. But I trusted Dad, and I couldn’t deny the kind, generous, warm guy who made me giggle like a fool – and still does.
So here’s to you, Freddie J. You’re the jam in my jelly doughnut. Thank you for such a wild, crazy, fun life. You rock!