He was seated on the stand in a sharp-looking suit. Sandy blond hair, prominent cheekbones, lean physique, and blue eyes that were out of this world. He was beautiful. And since he was speaking in church, I knew I'd have the excuse to unabashedly stare at him for at least fifteen minutes. When the Bishop announced the names of the speakers, I tried to match his face with one of the names. I decided he was Eric, the first counselor in the Sunday School Presidency. I was wrong. He was Jay, the Sunday School President. I vaguely remember that he talked about (what else?) Sunday School, but I don't remember any of the particulars; I was too busy watching him smile.
If my life were a chick flick, after the meeting we would have walked toward each other in slow motion in the 4/4 time of the violin music that suddenly blocked out every other sound, and he would have put his hand on my cheek as I gazed into his eyes, and we would have said profound things like:
Jay: "I'm Jay."
me: "You're beautiful."
Jay: "That's my line."
Jay: "Let's get married."
Jay: "What was your name?"
But of course, my life isn't quite that easy (or sappy), and the reality is that he didn't even really talk to me or ask me out for three. whole. months. Okay, so it wasn't entirely his fault that he's classy and refused to ask a girl out who had a boyfriend (though not at the time he gave that talk, mind you), but it is entirely his fault that he's sensitive and wanted to give her a whole month to get over him when she was finally single again.
And that, my friends, was the beginning of the rest of my life.