You be the judge. Whose version do you believe? Although that look on my face doesn't really help my version of this story very much... (I'm standing up. She's sitting down.)

We never actually had a wedding.  We sort of talked about it, and talked about it some more, and then finally opted for the low key exchange of nuptials instead.  I mean we literally just showed up at a retired judge’s home in a nearby little town one day and asked him to marry us.

Well, wait, let me correct myself.  It wasn’t just any old day.  It was Valentine’s Day!  And we didn’t actually just drive up, we had to get our marriage license at the courthouse first and then make an appointment with this viejito of a judge.  Still, there probably wasn’t as much romance as there should have been.  We didn’t even take a picture to commemorate the occasion.  The thing is, though, we’ve never actually been one of those cute “typical” couples that does everything according to custom.  Me imagino that we would have had a blast in a Big Fat Mexican Wedding, as we had talked about for so long, and hey, no one says we can’t still do it one day, but our approach was much more practical.

You ready to get married?

Yeah. 

Okay, let’s do it!     

We did it, went to dinner at a swanky restaurant to celebrate, texted our families that we were now married, took in everyone’s varied reactions (both our moms were kind of upset for a little while… uuyy), and then were done with it.  The next day we were back to just being Juan and Anjelica, and that’s the way it’s been ever since.  What’s more interesting and kind of ironic is how we actually met.

For years we’d actually known each other without knowing it.  I was a print reporter in those days and she worked with one of my sisters at a local nonprofit.  Because of the beat I was covering, of course Hispanic issues, I’d often stop by at their offices for a quick visit… or a rather long one, depending on what my mood was.  Yet in all those years of playing hooky from my beat and just hanging out I never actually met her there.  We never even saw each other.  It wasn’t until we were throwing a going away party for mi hermana a couple of years later that we actually met.  De ahí the rest is history… albeit recollected in somewhat different versions.

Anjelica claims I was drunk and wouldn’t leave her alone, and that’s how she ended up giving me her number.  What actually happened though, at least according to me, is that she was just as flirtatious as I was and gave me her phone number quite willingly.  Dare I say, with as much anticipation as I had for getting it!  We can debate about this for hours so let’s not even get started.  The craziest part about all this though – and we both agree on this part – was that after we started spending more and more time together we realized we had actually been pretty close to meeting earlier on several occasions, and somehow something always managed to keep us apart, I guess until the time was right.  It’s still kind of wild to think about.  In one picture my sister had taken – months before her going away party – Anjelica and I are actually both in the same photo.  Their agency was having a pubic town hall meeting.  She was working the event.  I was sitting in front of the panel of talking heads taking notes, and neither one of us had any clue that in a couple months our lives would be in sync.

Who knows what would have happened if we never met at that party?  How would our encuentro have been?  Would there be alcohol involved inevitably?  I’m convinced it would have happened no matter what.

Como quién dice: siempre hay un roto para un descosido.