It’s been 10 years. And all 10 were fast, fun, loving, crazy and inspiring. Hubby and I celebrated our 10 year anniversary, and it was fun to reminisce about how we became “we.”

We met in undergraduate school at the University of Missouri. I had an assignment in one of my journalism classes to visit the other mediums of the craft. Naturally I forgot this until my teacher’s assistant reminded us that we had to turn in our assignments the following day. Thankfully I’d already hit up radio and print, all I needed was the TV station.

Later that day, I jetted over to the NBC station with another forgetful classmate and we were introduced to Hubby, who was a student producer. He was operating in sixth gear, scrambling to get ready for the evening newscast.

He had an accent, a warm smile and utterly charming. He quickly explained a few things, asked us to label some tapes (yes, tapes. I’m getting old.)

I have a little knack where sometimes when I meet people, I often state to myself a snap judgment of the person. No matter how “out there” it may seem at the time, I’m 100% correct.

My statement for him was: Whoever is in his life, is a very lucky person.

And after a short time, I forgot that my forgetful classmate was even there. I was quite intrigued by this Norwegian boy.

For the next six months, we would “stumble upon” each other around campus. When really, if I noticed that I saw him somewhere, I’d frequent that place every chance I got and turns out, he was doing the same for me.

Then one day, like many days, I was done with classes and sitting in Brady Commons hanging with my friends. You know how people self-segregate? This was no different and the spot where I was laughing away was where a lot of the black kids hung out. Most of the white kids sat in a bigger space across the aisle.

I looked up from the table just in time to see Hubby emerging from where the white people sit and heading into the direction walking over to what some called “Little Africa.”

Is he coming over to talk to me? Suddenly I was in the middle of a John Hughes film. Hubby was walking in slow motion and I could no longer hear my friends cackling around me. He was definitely crossing the racial divide to come over to talk to me.

As he stood in front of me, it was clear he was nervous and wanted something. We made short chit-chat and then he goes, I have a question.

Little Africa got deathly quiet. It was like we were on stage.

I thought he was going to ask for my phone number. He started talking about his upcoming trip to China for Christmas break and wondered if there was anything he could send back to me. He wanted my address.

I heard a snicker or two. My address? I thought. All of that blabbering and he’s going to ask me for my address? How 1872 of him. Trying to save face, I stood up and said “Let’s go talk over here.” After leaving Little Africa, I told him that it’d be better if I gave him my number, so he could just call me when he returned.

Fast-forward to after Christmas break, I knew Hubby was back from China, but he didn’t call. Not the first week, not the second week and then when the third week after Christmas break rolled around, I’d given up. I figured that the fireworks were all just in my head.

Then he called. We talked and the chemistry was still there. I could tell the fireworks weren’t simply my imagination. We set up a dinner date.  A few nights later, our first date took us to Olive Garden. While there, I laughed non-stop. He was hilarious and thankfully 10 years later, I still can’t stop laughing.