Exactly three years ago there was a knock at my front door. It was a knock I'd anticipated since I was seven years old. Those three quick knuckle pounds sent me hustling to put away the vacuum and shove several tons of freshly cleaned laundry into my closet. A pair of lime green Pumas fell from the top shelf and hit me in the shoulder. I tossed them back up. Small beads of sweat gathered on my forehead. I almost never sweat. I tucked my dreadlocks behind my ears and glanced at the mirror. I wasn't happy with what I saw. Two rapid knocks at the door reminded me to hurry. Quickly applying lip gloss, I cleared the bath products from the lengthy marble counter that framed my sink.

When I checked on Mooch, who was fast asleep in her room, I had a brief moment of fear. I was about to let a complete stranger into my home with me and my two-year-old daughter. What was I thinking? Visions of Amber Frey, the single mother who got tied up in an affair with the lying murderer, Scott Peterson, began to swarm in my head. There were three more knocks at the door. I talked myself down off of the ledge. My boss knew this guy, and I was familiar with at least three of his friends. Sure, we had met on MySpace, but we had spoken on the phone, I knew where he lived and worked, and I had warned at least five people (including my mom) that he was coming over. I went to open the door.

"Hello." I said, as I opened the door. "You're tall." I could have kicked myself for stating the obvious. Plus, he wasn't even that tall. He had to be roughly 6'2". I just didn't know what else to say. I'm a bit socially awkward.

"You really are breathtaking." he replied, with a smile that stretched from ear to ear. I thought he was clearly just being nice, because I was wearing huge light blue house cleaning sweats and a red and white vintage t-shirt that clung to my frame.

"Thank you. Come in. You can put your shoes under here." I gestured toward the long wooden bench near the front door.

"I have similar shoe rules at my place." he responded. I smiled and headed toward my room.

"We're going to come back here, because my daughter is sleeping and with the living room being right off her bedroom, I don't want to disturb her."

"Okee-dokee." he said, following me. I sat on my bed.

"So how was your Thanksgiving? I mean was the food good?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah. Aunt Elzater throws down for Thanksgiving. I'm stuffed. I'm just surprised that the kitchen at my karaoke gig caught on fire tonight. Sully's is one of my favorite shows to do."

"Yeah, that sucks." I said. "Hopefully, everything turns out alright." What I was really thinking was: If that fire hadn't happened tonight, I would have had to wait all the way until Saturday to finally meet you in person. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

"Naw, I'm good." he nodded the way people nod when there's awkward silence. That made my brain hurry up to find something we could do. Since he was a writer, I suggested playing Scrabble. His whole face lit up, so I went to find the Scrabble set that had been in my family for two generations.

Once the game was rolling, we both loosened up a little. Well, he did. I was still full of butterflies, fear, and scattered brains. Our game eventually had a theme. We put down words like "like," "cuddle," "love," and "lube" (Don't ask -- and yes, we know abbreviations aren't allowed.). We bent the rules slightly. He put down the word "kiss." Then his bold ass asked for one, and laid back on the bed like I was supposed to climb on top of him to give it to him. I wasn't really ready to kiss him. He had only been there for an hour. This made me very nervous. I was certain he was going to rape me at this point. I started conjuring up ways to secretly call for help. I sucked in a breath and smiled sheepishly.

"No, I'm not coming over there to kiss you." I said. He sat up. I sighed relief. He was very friendly and gentle. I assumed he was halfway joking but would have taken the kiss if I gave it to him.

"It's your turn." He said. I was saving my letters to put down the word "embrace," because it was going to score me a lot of points. I asked him if I could use onomatopoeia. He approved, but I put down "hope" instead. Then I suggested we make a story out of all of the words on the board. "Stop saying things that are totally hot." he said.

The evening was beginning to seem like the perfect romantic comedy. I didn't want it to end. He smelled really good. I think he was wearing Axe body spray. He smiled at me a lot and his eyes were warm. We did end up kissing in exchange for my putting down the word "embrace." It was slow, gentle and passionate, and he knew exactly where to put his hands. We kept it at first base, I think. I'm not really sure what first base is actually. Anyway, he was going to leave, but I asked him to stay for ten more minutes. We sat on the futon in my living room and quietly discussed the Smurfs, politics, and stem cell research. He never left, and we were engaged in nine months.

Today is the three year anniversary of the day we met. Three years ago, today, three knocks at the door changed my life completely.

Labels: marital mondays, marriage