The Italian Stallion

I remember when I first met my husband. It was the morning after a particularly hazy night out on the town with my good friend, Rosie. We had been pubbing and clubbing the night before, and now, after a long walk home in the early hours of the morning, had arrived to discover that my brother (who I was sharing a house with) had left for the weekend and had thoughtfully locked me out. It was about 6am and we had no where to go. We were thirsty, hungry, tired and looked a bit like escaped psychopaths with wild hair and smeared makeup. And short skirts. We laid in the park over the road for ages trying to figure out where we could go and have someone take pity on us, when Rosie suggested we try her cousin Joseph. I didn't care where we ended up, as long as I got some form of moisture back into my mouth, so off we went up the road.
He lived in an awesome house right near the beach, but what really grabbed my attention was the blue sports car parked in his driveway. It was the exact car that only weeks ago I had spotted and told my Mum "see that car - I'm going to marry the owner one day'. Coincidence??
Joe met us at the door with two cups of steaming coffee and invited us in. The house was extremely spotless and so, so clean. (I later discovered that this trait disappears soon after marriage). After finding his bathroom and nearly drowning myself in an attempt to make myself look semi-alive, we went outside and started talking and talking. We had so much in common, we both loved horror movies, loved the same bands and knew lots of the same people. Before we knew it it was early evening and I decided that my brother would be home, so we thanked him for putting up with us and left.
He called and asked me out for tea a couple of days later, and the rest, as they say is history.
I remember when I first told my parents about Joe. I couldn't blame them for being concerned when I described him as a junk-food loving, gold chain-wearing, heavily tattooed Italian Stallion, with a mohawk and a fondness for bongs. I had had a string of boyfriends who had ranged from plain weird to the criminally insane, and Mum was especially worried when she discovered that he was shorter than me. But my Dad cheered up when he found out Joe drove a wrx, as that was his dream car.
The first time Joe came for dinner, there was a moment of hysteria from Mum, as she made spaghetti and meatballs. Then realised that not only was Joe an Italian, who would have had authentic spaghetti, he was probably sick of eating it. But he assured her they were the best he'd eaten, thus winning over my Mum in one fell swoop.
Joe didn't just fit in with my family, he was loved by the whole town. Middle aged women everywhere gushed over him, as not only was he nice looking, it was obvious that he was actually a genuinely nice guy, with decent morals and values. And he accepted my two cats and treated them like his own offspring, even allowing them to sleep on his red suede lounge suite.  Before he proposed, he took a secret trip up to visit my parents to ask for my hand in marriage, a tradition that most believe had disappeared over the years.
The wedding day was a comedy of errors. Everything that could go wrong did. I had a terrible ear infection and had to dose myself to the eyeballs on painkillers. I asked Joe's sister to be my Matron of Honor, a duty she would have performed beautifully, had she not spent the morning of the wedding in hospital on a drip due to severe gastroenteritis. However, she made it to the church, looking as green as the dress she was wearing and still managed to look beautiful. My brother;s job was to drive Joe's wrx and deliver the bridesmaids to the church, and of course he got pulled over by the police and given a speeding fine along the way. When he finally arrived at my parent's house where we were all getting ready, (and trying to ignore my soon-to-be sister in law vomiting in the garden,)he informed us that there was actually another wedding going on at the same church!!! I couldn't believe it as I had confirmed the day before that the church was to be open and ready for us. When the Rolls Royce arrived to escort my father and I to the church, I had to ask why the driver insisted on putting the car in neutral and honking the horn all the way to the church. He told me that the horn was playing up and going off on it's own, and something 'just didn't feel right when he put his foot on the brakes'. Great. And sure enough, when we arrived at the beautiful little church, all the wedding guests were milling around outside instead of sitting inside listening to the compilation of beautiful songs that we had spent weeks agonising over. And there on the front steps of the church was a bride, a groom and a small gathering of people congratulating them. It turns out, they were a group of friends travelling throughout Western Australia. One happened to be a celebrant, the bride spotted the church, fell in love with it, whipped out her dress and they decided to get married on the front lawn outside. I have a photo of myself and her standing side by side in our meringue frocks in my wedding album.
The wedding night was lots of fun, the food was fantastic and everyone had a ball. Thank God noting else went wrong (besides the best man splitting his pants during the photos) and more and more people having to retreat to their houses and hotels early, dropping like flies as the dreaded gastro bug hit them.
We honeymooned on the Gold Coast. Of course it wasn't without dramas. My ear infection had gone into overdrive, and when we got on the plane, the increased air pressure caused unbearable pain. Passengers on the other side of the planes aisle could hear my ear drums 'squealing'. By the time we landed I was so sick and dizzy. I spent so much of my honeymoon trying to stay upright and not fall into the footpath that appeared to be sloping in all directions under my feet. The second half of the trip was spent at a health resort on Stradbroke Island. Fun when you are already woozy, and by now Joe was getting a tad sick of my whingeing. It was a true test of companionship, but the biggest test came for Joe when he realised he was out of cigarettes, stuck on an island for a week, and there was no junk food whatsoever. A few days into it, he was just about going blind from nicotine withdrawals, when we found a restaurant that served nachos. He frantically rang and ordered bulk nachos to be delivered to our room as soon as humanly possible. The knock on the door came and Joe ran like lightning, took the covered tray of food and tipped the worker generously, salivating and shaking with want. The last few days of no cigarettes, alcohol and any form of slightly unhealthy food had pushed him over the edge of sanity, and as he tore the lid off the tray I swear he almost passed out.
"What the fuck is this shit???"He screamed. He went a bit manic I must say, throwing things around the hotel room, a crazed look on his face. He rang the restaurant....Ï ordered bloody nachos...and you've given me blue stuff"....The person on the other end tried to explain to him that the nachos were made from organic blue corn chips with a freshly chopped salsa and re-fried bean dipping sauce on the side. No cheesy corn chips from a packet, no melted gooey cheese and sour cream dolloped on top. He hung up and I saw tears in his eyes. He drank our complimentary bottle of wine out on the porch that had the ocean directly underneath us, and tried to hide the tears of frustration that were filling his eyes. I didn't have the heart to tell him it was non-alcoholic.
The next day we decided to hire canoes and paddle down the lake that spiralled through the resort. I hopped in and was about to take off when Joe spotted the backpack I was carrying.  He decided that as women were so completely useless at anything remotely physical it would be much safer and sensible for him to carry our belongings. Of course Joe's canoe rolled over and our bag containing our camera, wallets, money, keys etc were gone, along with his paddle. I was laughing so hard, especially when he had to start diving for it I nearly rolled myself. Even he had to laugh at the ridiculousness of it.
I think the main thing that irritates me about my husband, besides his many collections and the morning ritual of clearing his nose in the shower (gross) by blocking one nostril and blowing out the other...is the fact that he can eat SO much take-away and stay thin. Every Friday night he will eat minimum of two burgers, large fries and large nuggets, and wash it all down with a large coke. My arse expands simply thinking about all he consumes in one sitting. It is just. not.fair. He never eats fruit, hates most vegetables, yet is in exceptional health and is very fit. It makes me sick. However, I have visions of him turning into one of those short, old and tubby Italian men with bald heads and trousers pulled up just under their man-boobs. I secretly hope not.
Throughout the years we have stood by each other through family deaths, marriages and of course the births of our two amazing beautiful daughters. For all his shortcomings, Joe has made me feel very safe, happy and loved. And he makes me laugh every day. Except for when i find huge nasal secretions in the shower....