Lava surfing anyone?

Back when I was young and feisty, I lived in San Francisco. I lived in the most amazing building of flats with my best friend, Stan. Upstairs were Maria and Auntie Chihuahua. Life was really good. Closer than friends, I think of this group as my second family. We have added husbands and boyfriends, but the group is still referred to as "The Walter Street" group. When we lived in this flat, Sunday night was family dinner. I'd cook and we'd all get together and watch TV. That was just how it was. We ran up and down the connected back stairs (a glorified fire escape) to visit each other and spent as much time in our neighbor's apartment as we did our own.

One weekend, I'd invited a friend and his wife for dinner. Stan and I cooked and cleaned, planned and prepped and by the time our guests were set to arrive, we were ready to entertain and dazzle. The didn't show. So we had heaps of food, nice, tasty food just sitting there, so we did what we always did, we called our neighbors. I invited Sean and Maria down to dinner. Maria had invited some friends from work (a research lab at UCSF) over for a drink at the pub so he hesitated to accept. I told her to invite them along we had a serious oversupply of food a couple of gallons of fresh sangria. She did. And what happened then, well, I can honestly say it changed my life.

Maria and her friends came down the back stairs and into my kitchen. I remember thinking that this one guy friend was really cute. That was the first time I'd ever seen Mr. Dog. Turns out, he'd just dropped by the lab when Maria called and invited her friends over. He'd been out biking and only had biking gear, he was sweaty and clad in spandex shorts and a ratty t-shirt. His friend in the lab loaned him a pair of jeans and a shirt. Thing is, this friend was about 5 inches taller than Mr. Dog so he had to roll up the jeans. I didn't notice that. He told me later.

His first memory of me is a bit less kind. He says he asked me for a glass of water and I told him "We don't drink water here. Have some sangria." Luckily he likes saucy girls.
We drank and ate and as I finished up with the food preparations, a few of the sciency types adjourned to the living room. When I breezed in to refresh their beverages, I caught a snippet of their conversation.
"No, it would have to be titanium. You couldn't surf lava on anything else."
"I guess so."
"Absolutely, you'd have to have a titanium surfboard,"insisted Mr. Dog.
Yes, the conversation had turned to a discussion of surfing on molten rock. I distinctly remember thinking, that's too bad, he was cute, but surfing lava? Geeks!

As the night moved on, the conversation turned to other, less dorky topics. His cuteness helped me put the lava surfing on the back shelf of my mind. He was funny, smart and we liked the same movies. Well, movie. Raising Arizona.

Things progressed. I'll not go into details because I think some people who read this blog still think I was a nice girl at this point in my life. They'd be wrong, but I don't need to rub their noses in it.

A day or so later, he called and invited me to go camping. This was not a period in my life in which I embraced the outdoors. My parents had taken us camping as kids. I remembered being cold and filthy. I remember being forced to bathe in the icy water of the streams near out campsite. Not fun at all. So I politely declined his invitation. I believe I said, "Camping? Uh no, I don't camp. We spent thousands of years building civilization, why in the world would I want to sleep on dirt?"

Amazing our relationship ever came about, isn't it? Over time we became friends, be became a full fledged member of the Walter Street group, and over time a relationship developed. He was the one I wanted to be with when I was happy, when I was sad and pretty much anytime in between. Stan liked him too. Which says a lot. Stan didn't like anyone I'd dated. He tolerated them, but Mr. Dog was different. Stan enjoyed spending time with him.

Eventually I moved out of Walter Street and into a flat of our own, we got our first dog, then our second (real woof woof kind of dogs, the babies came later) later we got engaged and married. Monday is the seventh anniversary of our marriage. Mr. Dog, you rock. I still love you more than zombies love human flesh. Always will.