Christina Keffer | How We Met
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Firehouse

30 Apr How We Met

Jake and I met at a club. It was called the FireHouse Lounge. This, you probably know. What you probably don’t know is the rest of the story:

After hitting it off (really, really well) at the club,  we headed to friend’s house (pretty sure it was Carlos) to continue partying till the sun came up ’cause that’s what we did back in the far off days of 2007.

Next morning, wincing at the sunlight, and looking my best in last night’s dress and amazing racoon-inspired makeup, I offered to drive this gorgeous guy back to his car.

Just as we were passing into the city, my car, my baby, my Elantra, who had been with me for so long and withstood so much damn punishment, apparently decided I had found my soul mate and she no longer had to continue putting up with said punishment.

She died spectacularly on Grant and Sixth. Jake refused to walk the remaining 5 minutes to his car and drove me home so I wouldn’t have to sit in the tow truck in my finest walk-of-shame attire. What a gentleman.

All in all, I feel as though it was a good introduction to the rest of our lives.

PS. Anyone who knows me will totally believe this and thats good ’cause it’s  the truth. I didn’t remember Jakes name for like, 3 more weeks. Not like I didn’t talk to him. There were lots of “Hey…you”s and “No way…dude”s before I finally caved and asked someone (again, probably Carlos) to save my from my own idiocy.

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