I never thought I would marry a ginger. Then again it was never my direct intention not too. They say women like "tall, dark, and handsome," but I was never attracted to one specific look.
I met Mr. Broome at Parelli's pizza one night and his face was red as a cherry tomato. His hair was a blazing auburn. I didn't pay much attention to him the night we met, but I do remember thinking that "Wow, that guys has some red hair."
Then he asked me to dinner. Our first date to the restaurant with the talking Moose, we discovered that our families not only knew each other, but were brought up in the same church. Our third date to the Sun Dial(He really knows how to woo his woman) I decided in my heart that he was going to be my husband. Of course I didn't say so, but everything in my heart said that this young man with red locks and red cheeks was going to be mine.
Then I left for the summer.
I went to Beach Project with a ministry from college in Panama City a couple of months after we had met. I was to be gone for two and a half months. He wrote me a letter every single day for the time I was gone. Every day, really. In addition to coming down to Panama City for "work"(as you know his work sends him many places). I didn't know what to think of the letters at first. I had never had a man pursue me so relentlessly and somewhat passionately. It was a delight to say the least.
I came home from the summer and moved into a house full of girls who didn't know a thing about taking care of a home other than basic cleaning. My room mates came to love him almost much as I did after a few fixes to our house and a giant hammock had been installed in the back yard. I felt so special. My boyfriend was a real charmer.
And I began to seriously love his red hair. I tell him this all of the time... Mr. Broome, I think you are the very most handsome man in the world.
Not even, not even a year into dating we were beginning to talk about getting married. It felt kind of crazy to me, but I think when you know you know. I mean really, you do. Or I did at least.
Not the first date, but one of the many firsts at the talking moose restaurant.