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  • V

Our story according to V ~How did we meet?

Koda [Ken] and I met like many couples of our generation, on the internet on a cringe dating site that shall not be named to save both our pride and not date us as "that old". I remember that day clearly as anything. I was giving up on everything, my failing marriage, life, and everything that I had been doing to survive as a person, a mom, a housewife. I knew I could no longer survive at the status quo. So deleting all the dating accounts that my then-husband either made or had encouraged me to make just made sense. I was going to work myself and get myself healthy. It was when I saw a message from Koda. I had seen his profile before and not given it much thought other than he must have a cool job as he was openly a broadcaster. So this broadcaster had written me a very thought-out, articulate message that was more than the typical "hey baby..." . So I of course I responded with the bold and short question: "Why married women?" Ken explained he wasn't looking for complicated, that he traveled a lot for work, and wanted someone to connect to after failing miserably in the dating scene in Minot for over 5 years. I felt comfortable with this arrangement; I could do not complicated, I could do no commitment. Our conversation quickly transitioned from the basic get-to-know-yous to volunteers or rather the lack of volunteers for the upcoming hockey games. Me being me, I quickly went to how can I help? Who do I know? What can we do create better long term solutions? For the next month or so, we fluctuated from casually chatting about our day to day lives to working together as I was well-connected on the military base and well-versed in Photoshop. Little did we know, this would become a common theme with our relationship.

A few weeks later, we attempted to meet in person. It was February 15th, the day after Valentines' Day. I remember in the evening Ken sent me a text that he had gotten in a car accident and wouldn't be able to make it. I immediately thought had he gotten cold feet and replied with "Bullshit" to receive less than 2 seconds later a picture of a very smashed, monster-tucked Toyota Corolla. I immediately apologized and tried not to hide under an invisible rock of shame. A week later, on February 22nd, we attempted to meet up again at Spicy Pie. Between bedtime, bathtime routines, and tuckings, I was an hour and a half later than planned. In my head, I was thinking it serves him right for making me wait, I'll make him wait. I was not very kind. I pulled up to see him sitting by himself. From the window, I could see his hat. It was the first thing I noticed. So me being me, I texted him: "Nice hat." I was met with the response of "Are you coming in?" I said, "No, I got to get my lipstick on first." And made him wait another 5 minutes. I walked in to see a kid donning a black polo shirt with a terrible circle logo (I still hate that logo), jeans, sneakers, and a brown well-worn hat, sipping on a whiskey and coke. Five minutes into Ken's infectious storytelling (yes, he told me the parade story and probably a few

more), I knew in my heart that this was someone I always wanted to be part of my life in some capacity. I hoped that we'd always be friends. A part of me was sad that I would never get a chance to grow with this person. Again, little did I know that this person would become MY person.


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