The One Night Stand That Lasted 25 Years

It’s time for another GenFab blog hop. The theme this time is “How I Met My Significant Other.” I don’t have one at the moment, but I DID, so here goes…

Twenty six years and [insert large number] fewer pounds ago, I decided I needed to have a one night stand. Back then, people didn’t make things like bucket lists (I still don’t) but if I had made one, “one night stand” would have been on it. Because I was getting older, you know, being 18 and all. It just seemed like it would be fun to be more like a dude and just once find someone to love then leave. Like a rockstar. “See ya next time I’m in town, babe. Or not.”

I failed miserably.

The college I went to is known for a certain let’s say, “eccentricity” among its students. Freak flags fly proudly from every freaky flagpole, if you will. When I graduated, the population of the school was 400, give or take a freak. A few times a year, the students would organize a huge school-wide party called a PCP, an acronym for Palm Court Party. PCPs were exactly what you picture when you imagine an outdoor party loosely organized by very young adults: drug and alcohol-fueled Bacchanals that typically lasted until the sun came up. At the spring 1986 PCP, I sat down on a wall with my friend – let’s call him “Chris” – and announced my plan to pick out a guy at the party and have a one-night stand. Our conversation went something like this:

Me: I’m gonna have a one-night stand. I mean, if I call myself a feminist and mean it, I just need to, ya know?

Chris: What are you even talking about right now?

Me: Seriously! Enough with all this romantic “oh, he’s so dreamy” bullshit! I’m gonna pick a guy out TONIGHT and it’s going DOWN. That’s it!

Chris: I’m gonna go get another beer. Will you be done talking about this when I come back?

As Chris walked through the beer-soaked grass to get more beer, I scanned the party with the discerning eye of a very sophisticated, very independent young woman. A young woman who scoffed at things like “feelings” and “love”. (I was not that young woman at all, but I really tried, you guys.)

And then I saw him. The one. He was attractive in a conventional kind of way, not in that quirky way that most of the men at my school were. Deciding there was no point in wasting time, I confidently strode across Palm Court, eyes fixed on my prey. I introduced myself and chatted briefly about mutual friends and professors and other blah stuff. Even though I thought I wanted to make the deal go down that very night, I was charmed by his suggestion that we meet for dinner the following evening. Whaaa? A real date? Should have been my first warning sign. I should have aborted the mission the minute “meeting for dinner” was suggested!

The following evening (pretty sure I woke up around 4 pm that day) we walked over to the Golden Buddha – a local Chinese place somehow both sticky and greasy – and enjoyed some sort of fried something and a couple of the Buddha’s notoriously strong Mai Tais. Walking back to his place, I barely paid attention to what he was saying because my internal dialogue was so loud. “I am NOT dating this dude.” “I am NOT gonna listen to him tell me he thinks I’m funny.” “I am NOT gonna get in long, dreamy conversations with him.” “I am getting what I want and then counting this dude as another – well, at least ‘a’ – notch on my lipstick case (Pat Benatar™).”

Well, it turns out I wasn’t as sexy and hott as I thought I was that night. Damn you, Mai Tais! Turns out, in fact, that after some healthy making out, this particular fella thought that I should probably sleep it off and we could talk in the morning. Then I basically passed out. I woke the next morning in a shame spiral so deep that I actually considered climbing out his window to escape. He wasn’t in bed. He was gone…to the kitchen, where he was making coffee and frying potatoes and eggs and generally making me the best hangover breakfast EVAR! He brought it to me, along with some aspirin and lots of assurance that even though I had been sort of adorably drunk, he was afraid I would have regrets the next day and he just didn’t want to be a part of that.

I know: AWWW. So sweet, right?

That was in 1986. We moved in together later that year and married in 1992. Spoiler alert! We are no longer together, but we were for two kids and 25 years. So, I failed at lovin’ him and leavin’ him, but I guess I count the rest as a win.

Summer 1986, Rhinebeck, New York

Read about how other Generation Fabulous ladies met their spouses, significant others, baby daddies, etc. here:

25 thoughts on “The One Night Stand That Lasted 25 Years

  1. paynemar says:

    Loved this! Now you gotta get your mid century modern one night stand in-like now!

  2. Gail Peck says:

    Awww…this must have been painful to write. I cannot remember how Bruce and I first met it was SO long ago.

    • reallyrealatlantahousewife says:

      Thanks. You know, it was not even close to how hard it was to write that “me at 20” piece. You and Bruce probably met on the playground!

  3. Janie Emaus says:

    Two kids and twenty-five years sounds pretty good to me. And you sound happy, so that’s what counts.

  4. Sharon says:

    I love love love this! Probably my favorite thing that you have ever written! Don’t get me wrong, I do love some celebrity trash. This is just such a great story. I love the beginning and the end and everything that went right and wrong in between. Bonus points for the great pic of you two! You look so radiant and remind me so much of your mom in this picture.

    • reallyrealatlantahousewife says:

      Sharon, I swear: you just brought on actual TEARS! Thank you so much for your kind words. So much. 🙂

  5. Bonnie says:

    Great story and so well written! I think I was at that party! LOL!

  6. conniemcleod says:

    25 years is a good run! Great story!

  7. This was fun. Two kids and 25 years is a very good long time—the same for me!

    • reallyrealatlantahousewife says:

      I can’t wait to read yours! I didn’t want to read anyone else’s this time before I wrote my own.

  8. Grace says:

    Great story, Lib. I really hear your voice (and the unnamed others) in the dialogue. Crazy that one night sets forth 25 years of a full life….was the same for Michael and I, though we “met” in Hamm Center when he played piano to my singing the blues.

    • reallyrealatlantahousewife says:

      It is funny, isn’t it? I have a vivid memory of Michael complimenting a green dress you were wearing. You two were newly together. Weird, huh?

  9. I have to say I was a little sad at the end, but still a great love story! And with your wit I’m sure you’re meeting men everywhere you go. At least I hope so!

    • reallyrealatlantahousewife says:

      Aw, shucks. That is super nice of you to say. I’m looking forward to reading yours. And maybe next time I’ll get the one night stand right. 😉

  10. Very sweet (maybe bittersweet at the end?) and I enjoyed the being able to be a fly on the wall for your first date.

  11. […] The One Night Stand That Lasted 25 Years – Really Real Atlanta Housewife […]

  12. joyweesemoll says:

    What a fun story. I could relate to wanting to be more sophisticated and worldly than I actually was at that age. So sweet that you got a hangover breakfast instead.

    • reallyrealatlantahousewife says:

      It was pretty sweet. I see my own daughter wanting to be more worldly than she is. Maybe that desire is what compels us to get out into the world. Who knows.

  13. I didn’t see your spoiler alert coming at all. And I have to say that yes, it made me kind of sad. If you still want that one-night stand, I hope you get it, which is really my way of saying that I hope you get what your heart desires. Thanks for sharing a terrific story!

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