April 6, 2007 was the last time I was excited about doing laundry. My housemates were gone so I had the washer and dryer all to myself and Season 2 of the Gilmore Girls to keep me company between loads.
I was halfway through folding my first load when I received a text from a friend: “Wanna do something?”
I hesitated. We were already planning to see a movie later that afternoon, and after the crazy week I had had, I needed time to my self – but I really enjoyed spending time with that particular friend, so I tapped out a quick reply: “I’m in the middle of laundry and the Gilmores, but you can join me if you want.”
He showed up at my door ten minutes later.
After two more loads, three more episodes, and half a dozen rounds of “Whaddya wanna do?” “I don’t know, what to you want to do??” – we decided to go shopping. I needed a dress for a wedding and he agreed to help me pick one out.
Back then I despised shopping even more than I do now, so it didn’t take much to distract me.
“You should buy rollerblades,” he said, as we walked past Sportchek.
“Rollerblades,” he confirmed, steering me inside. “Let’s just see what they have, okay?”
Twenty minutes later I left the store with a heavy bag and and bright red cheeks. I had never worn rollerblades before so I held his hand to balance – and mine was still tingling.
“What now?” I asked, avoiding his gaze.
He reached for the bag. “Now we go rollerblading.”
* * * * *
April 6, 2015 I woke up dreading the mountain of laundry I had to deal with. I’m okay with sorting, washing, and drying but folding is definitely not my favourite. I prefer folding on Friday night when Say Yes to the Dress is on, not a weekday morning when I have to wrestle each item out of the hands of a “helpful” two-year-old.
Nathan had the day off but I didn’t. I had three days of work for a four-day weekend, two of which we spent out of town. You do the math.
And transcribing medical documents is no easy task with three people playing hockey in your office, which also happens to be your kitchen.
After more than an hour of listening to my frustrated (and highly exaggerated) huffing, Nathan decided I needed a break.
“Let’s go to Swiss Chalet! They started marinating their chicken in the dipping sauce. It’ll be fantastic!”
We decided to drop the kids off for lunch with their grandparents and turn it into a “hot date”.
If that’s even possible at Swiss Chalet.
We were settled in at our booth, perusing our menus, when Nathan broke the silence.
“We had Swiss Chalet eight years ago today, remember? It was busy, so we took it back to your place, and I lit all those candles …”
“And I thought you were crazy.”
“And then I put my hand on top of yours …”
“You were such a romantic.”
“And I haven’t let go since!” He grinned proudly, like our getting together was all his idea.
It’s been eight years and I still don’t think he understands quite how much work I put into letting him think it was all his idea …
Yesterday marked eight years of dating for Nathan and I. In some ways, dating looks a lot different now than it did back then – but in other ways there’s really no difference at all! It’s been eight years of dates at Swiss Chalet, eight years of Gilmore Girls marathons, and eight years of lit candles decorating the coffee table while we hold hands.
Believe it or not, it’s even been eight years of rollerblading – though when we head out these days, there are two extra feet strapped into teeny tiny rollerblades, and a stroller to hold onto while I struggle to keep my balance!