David and I met. December 23, 1993.
It was a business Christmas party of some duplication facility. Held at Tavern on the Green, for those who remember. I hadn’t been to a party in what seemed like forever, so I decided to take a girlfriend and go. Had on a red suit with black velvet cuffs and collar. Looked damn good.
When we got there, it was slow going. Like most parties, couples were hanging out with couples and there didn’t seem to be a lot of mingling go on. My friend decided to make her own action by coming on to one of the busboys. Looking around for something to do, I began to head over to where someone was taping the party. On my way, I was stopped by David and his friend Stan. Stan looked great and “appropriate” for a party at the Tavern; David, with his pony tail, work shirt, jeans and scuffed boots, looked like he had just come in from cutting lumber.
My friend Bill says, and it was love at first sight. I say, no. Not quite. David was funny and cute and the three of us had a good time talking, drinking, laughing, talking some more. And then people started dancing. As we watched them, David noticed my body, swaying, bopping, bouncing to the music. So he asked me, “Do you want to dance?” “Well,” I said, “I would really like to, but this is a business function and I better not. I can get pretty wild.” David just looked at me and said, “What the fuck do you care?”
That’s when I fell in love.
