I got to thinking about how Wayne and I met. We were 18, away from home for the first time at a small Bible school in Swift Current, Saskatchewan. And I was not impressed. Wayne was the ultimate redneck farm boy and I was from the Big City. The only wind beneath my wings where he was concerned was the faint odor of manure. It would be safe to say that we did not exactly hit it off. No mutual attraction, no chemistry, and no sparks. Well, maybe some sparks, but definitely not the good kind. Right from the start Wayne took on a personal mission to make my life miserable. I won’t go into details. I just made sure that my campus travels gave him a wide berth. And that wasn’t easy, given the size of the campus and student body.
A few months into that freshman year, Wayne started dating my best friend and for her sake I strove to be civil – icy, but civil. My brain was having trouble computing what in the world she saw in the jerk. He wasn’t bad looking, aside from his afro hairdo (this WAS 1973), and he was a hockey player. A HOCKEY player! You don’t get much more redneck than that. He did have a nice car, though, which sort of kicked him up a notch in comparison to some of the other guys at school. The car, however, did nothing to compensate for Wayne’s lack of social graces and finesse.
Social graces and finesse? Stop laughing. Many of you reading this will know that these two qualities are still somewhat lacking in my wonderful husband. Oh well.
More tomorrow . . .