Two years ago, while I was looking foroffice party room rental Montreal with my best friend, I ran into one of my former classmates, Sam. Her real name is not Sam, but let’s call her Sam for the sake of it. I would like to keep her anonymity for the moment.
The last time I had seen Sam, we were in college. We’ve never been too close. We were more acquaintances than friends, despite the fact we have taken the same classes for almost three years. Back then she wasn’t the type of girl that would blow my mind away. If I remember correctly, she was more withdrawn. She was not standing out at all, except for her grades which were always As. She was a smart girl, but not very attractive. She pretty in her own way.
When we stepped into the hotel, asking about renting the gala, we were sent directly to the general manager’s office. Guess who was the GM? My old classmate, Sam!
I was not able to recognize her because she was completely changed. There was nothing in her appearance that could have triggered an old memory of her. She was a totally different woman. Elegant, stylish, beautiful, refined, elegant, vibrant. Her name did not ring any bell also.
I could have sworn that we had never met before.
When she told me that we were classmates, I felt like an idiot. Hoping somehow to buy off my guilt, I returned another day to her office (with my friend, of course), invoked a silly excuse about his wedding, and invited her out. To my surprise, she accepted. Though not before cracking a joke about the fact that I would have never asked her out if she looked the same way as she did in college. I liked her sense of humour.
More time I spent with her, more I wished to be around her. Thus from having dinner together, we ended up dating for a whole year. I discovered that there were so many things I liked about her, not only her looks and brain. She was funny, loved sports, animals and computer games. I could not ask for more. At the end of one year of being together, we decided to get married. Who would have ever thought that I’d marry the ugly duckling? That’s how I start my story whenever someone is asking me how I met my wife.