I was in my fifth and final year of teaching at a boarding school in rural Dutchess County when I met my future husband. I loved teaching, but I had had enough of the rural part. I wanted to move to Boston, start a new life, and maybe meet a hunky Harvard literature professor who would sweep me off my feet and do the New York Times crossword with me on Sundays in our little nerdy book-filled apartment in Cambridge.
But of course, this is real life, and that’s not exactly what happened.
What actually happened was this: one Sunday in February, I got up and drove to Loomis Chaffee School an hour and a half away in Windsor, Connecticut. I was not happy about it. It was a long drive. It would be a boring meeting. Plus I would have to miss brunch, which everyone at boarding school knows is the best meal of the week. But because I was the head coach of the girls’ varsity basketball team at Millbrook, my attendance at this New England basketball coaches’ meeting was mandatory.
The meeting was as dull as I thought it would be, and I spent most of it staring at the chocolate brownies on the table on one side of the room. Apparently, Matt spent most of the meeting staring at me.
We like to say we met at the brownie table. There was just something about his eyes that made me want to know more. When I met him, I thought he had the loudest laugh I have ever heard, and on our first date, I was completely embarrassed by it. Now it is like a GPS — I use it to locate him in a crowd.
He was nothing like I had pictured for my future husband – hunky, sure, but not the Harvard literature professor /crossword-loving nerd I had originally thought I would spend my life with. He is a Boston-accented, wedding-reception-dance-floor-starting, I-majored-in-English-because-I’m-fluent athletic director/football coach who tried to kiss me on our first date and missed, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.