Welcome to Baby Brain, a space where I - Charlotte, hi! - write about my life as a mother of three small children - Poppet (m, 4 years), Pickle (m, 3 years) and Peach (f, 8 months.) Those are not their real names. These are real stories from our days.
“We met nine years ago tomorrow,” I said to my husband last night, sat on the couch in front of the England match. "I know," he told me, "I noticed that today."
He paused.
"Crown and Shuttle," he stated, proud, "do you know how I remember the name of the pub?"
Another pause.
"It's because you're a royalist and I'm a space nerd."
He grinned.
I smiled back: "Is it not because it's written on the giant poster at the end of our bed?" I asked.
"Yeah, he replied, "that helps."
August 17th, 2015 - I can pretty much guarantee you won’t have noticed but, lately, I have been absent from the internet. And absent from real life. And (mentally) absent from any conversation that doesn’t give me the chance to slip in the name of the man I am seeing. Who is called Ted,* by the way. Because I now have a Ted.
*He’s not, he’s called something much more British, but for the sake of the story
It began on a Friday, fifty two days ago. My work mates and I were in The Crown & Shuttle - a trendy Shoreditch boozer with cheesy chips and a garden - attempting to escape literary discussions with mind numbingly boring men who had girlfriends, they repeatedly told us, but who would “love it if you could meet up some time to critique our writing.” Uninterested in what these rats had to offer (an affair) we were attempting to disentangle from their advances when, out of nowhere, we found ourselves accidentally involved in the work party of a company that we don't work for.
Which is a fairly standard night out, to be fair, not sure why I bothered mentioning it.
As is the way when drinking in East London and avoiding tortured ‘creative’ types/unexpectedly crashing events, the wine was flowing. My vision was blurring. Jo was ranting passionately at a guy with a beard and Alice was chatting to a tall handsome northerner as I amused myself in the greatest way I know how - by playing ‘This Is My Beer Now.’
A short explanation: 'This Is My Beer Now' is a product of my drunken imagination. TIMBN involves team effort as well as solitary workmanship. It is a challenge. It is an art. An art of stealing beer from a pre-paid cooler whilst maintaining challenging eye contact with the person you're stealing from. And it is also, predictably, extremely short lived, as eventually player two (the beer bearer) will reach the point of wanting to physically hurt player one (me, in this case) should said player continue to silently remove and replace bottles without even the hint of a smile. Some people are real killjoys.
Anyway. Having sensed that I was about to be defeated, my attention left TIMBN in the dust, as I began taking note of what my friends were doing. This is the point I saw Alice’s friendly northerner sneaking glances at me and when I, my brain cells drowning in rosé wine as they were, openly stared at him in a way he later described as 'standoffish,' but which I thought more of as 'trying to focus.' Still, I must have done something right because it wasn't long before we were all engaged in conversation, which was when he began repeating a confusing sentence: “I’m on the 13th floor!”
Blank faces all around.
“I’m on the 13th floor! Of the building!”
Startled, I said: “What are you talking about?”
As I’ve mentioned, we were in The Crown & Shuttle. The Crown & Shuttle has, at most, four floors.
“The 13th floor!” he shouted again before, head tilted: “You don’t work in my building do you?”
We shook our heads. We considered backing away slowly. But the man had a dimple to die for and the most beautiful face I'd ever seen, so I stuck around, Alice firmly pushed off the scene (she wasn’t into him, we’re cool) until an Australian girl tapped him on the shoulder, and he was gone. I figured that was the end of our banter and was just considering another round of TIMBN, when Ted appeared with a hand on my arm and said he’d be right back. Unsure what to do and aware that Jo and Alice had found gentlemen of their own, I stood stock still and, within minutes, found myself being steered to a quieter part of the bar, where Ted got us both a glass of water, before presenting me with three options:
Option #1: We go somewhere now and get to know each other
Option #2: I give him my number and we do something next week
Option #3: We call it a day
Having just that week declared a dating ban, I suppose I should have been in two minds as to which option to take. I wasn’t, though, and we arranged to meet the following Thursday. Feeling lucky, I stood on my tiptoes to kiss him goodbye before returning to my friends. I kissed him goodbye again on my way out and, after texting to let him know I was “still outside if you want to say goodbye again,” we indulged in the sort of passionate making out that would embarrass even sailors on leave before going our separate ways and that, kids, is how - nine years ago to the day - I met your father.
We have been inseparable since.
Until next time 🫶🏻
Charlotte, I always believe that a meeting like this, and a story like this....is somehow destiny or maybe fate. I refuse to believe it's just a random thing. I do believe that it was meant to happen, and the script was written years before that night. Crazy, I know, but.... Thanks for sharing, Jim
This is so wholesome, Charlotte. My husband and I also had a fateful meeting seven years ago which led us to being married for now 1.5 months! Reading your story literally gave me those butterflies that I once felt in my stomach!