The Somewhat Anticlimactic Climax

So, having just made plans to go out on Monday night with Mr. WG, I then headed out for an evening with G2. The whole evening, I remember thinking, He’s not Mr. WG.

Sunday came, and I went back to the base. I don’t remember why we couldn’t go out Sunday night, but I suspect Mr. WG may have had air force commitments. Whatever it was, we talked briefly during the day, maybe even had lunch together, and then it was Monday afternoon and I was back at my barracks with my group getting ready for my date.

I changed at least three times.

Mr. WG showed up right on time, and we set off in his car down the streets of Tel Aviv. He asked about what kind of food I liked, and he decided to take me to a dairy restaurant on the beach. If you know how Mr. WG feels about dairy foods, this is much more meaningful.

Anyway, we got to the restaurant and got a table and started talking. He told me about his family: “I love my mom. My dad was in the army for 25 years, and he doesn’t really know anything about any of us. My older brother is the rabbi of the family. He calls me the goy of the family. My other brother only speaks computer. My sister crochets me kipot. My younger brother has been sick his whole life. My other brother is stupid, but it’s OK, because he knows it.”

We talked and talked and talked and only ordered dinner after the third time the waitress visited our table. I’m not sure if we ate when the food came, but I know we kept talking. At around 2 a.m., the waitress pointed out that everyone else had left, and she would appreciate it if we would do the same.

We went back out and stood outside the car, talking more. At some point, Mr. WG kissed me. And by the time I got back to my barracks it was just about time to get up, and I knew I was going to marry him.

So, a few weeks later, I had a new group of volunteers, younger ones this time. Americans. College kids, with a handful of adults in their 40s. And a bunch of them wanted to hang out one evening at a bar in Jaffa, so we went. And Mr. WG came along.

Someone asked Mr. WG how we met. I was talking to someone else and only half listening, but when I heard him say, “The first time I met WG, I was on my desk playing with myself,” I whirled around in quite a hurry. As the entire group convulsed with laughter, I tried to explain the finer points of the English language. The story has become legend in our house.

And there you have it. The Story of Us.