Let me paint the scene. It’s about 10:45AM on a muggy Wednesday in Houston, Texas. I’m headed into the office to run some tests on a project with a few team members. Throughout the morning, a handful of people on the team were conducting interviews for an open position in our department.

During the position’s vacancy, we hired a freelancer to fill the role for a month or two. This freelancer was one of the interviewees for the open position, and her interview took place right before lunch. I showed up right as her interview wrapped up, and I was invited out to lunch with everyone. Since she sort of knew everyone already, she was also invited to lunch. We just obviously couldn’t discuss any of the interviews that took place that morning–her’s included. Fair enough.

Just for context, I don't really know her that well. We've exchanged a message or two on Teams, but for the most part, I've had very little interaction with her up to this point.

We get seated at the IHOP® down the street from our building. I had already eaten breakfast, so I foolishly decided to order something off of the lunch menu. At a breakfast place. The incredibly-mid Philly Cheesesteak Stacker that was delivered to my seat only served to exacerbate what followed.

The Incident

We’re seated in a circular corner booth. It was nine of us. The freelancer, who is not seated next to me, begins telling a story across the table about notifications that her kids’ school district sent about the tropical storm that just hit us.

“What school district?,” I asked.

“Clear Creek ISD1 ,” she replied.

Oh! Common ground! My darling wife, Emily, is a graduate of Clear Creek ISD. A perfect anecdote for this rather pleasant conversation. So I mention this to her. Her eyebrows raise.

“What high school did she go to?”

…Huh. Shit. I actually… don’t know? I know this has come up in conversation before. Maybe two or three times since we started dating—each time mentioned totally in passing. It’s certainly been a while at this point since it’s come up. All I can think of in the moment is that it was “Clear [something] High School.”

Let me show you my options to pick from. These are all of the high schools in Clear Creek ISD:

  • Clear Brook High School

  • Clear Creek High School

  • Clear Falls High School

  • Clear Horizons High School

  • Clear Lake High School

  • Clear Springs High School

  • Clear View High School

You can see how this would be tricky. So I told her I wasn’t sure, but I would text Emily to find out.

This woman looks at me with a face of complete and utter disbelief. She is absolutely shocked that I don’t know exactly which "Clear" High School my wife attended. And she won’t let it go. She begins to grill me in front of everyone at the table for several minutes. Clapping back at every retort, scoffing at my attempts to justify myself. All while I am simply bewildered. What the fuck is happening?

You would think I just told her I didn’t know my wife’s middle name. Or her birthday. Or what company she works at.

I think this would perhaps be a bigger deal if we grew up in the same town. Maybe some of you are even reading this and finding yourselves shocked to a similar level. I want you to imagine something real quick.

Walk with me.

Imagine you are hypothetically single, and you move to Boston. Big city, big dreams. Fresh start. You feel a little out-of-place, but it’s okay. You’ll find your way, kid.

Weeks turn into months, and months turn into years. Moments pass, and along with them, a string of bad dates and short-lived relationships. Each one serving as a chaotic, messy, beautiful life experience. Your heart might shatter into pieces. You might breathe the deepest sigh of relief your lungs have ever felt. You never quite know what’s in store, but piece by piece, life is teaching you about yourself and how to love others. So that when the right one comes along, you’ll be ready.

And here she comes.

A cliché coffee shop meet-cute has turned into your life’s defining moment. You have found yourself entangled in the arms of Love, personified. There is no feeling that compares to this. You start to look at all things—tangible and intangible—with new context. Everything suddenly has meaning. Colors are more vibrant. The air around you is cleaner. Everything is this.

You would do anything to give her the world.

You begin to familiarize yourself with all of her little quirks. She sings when she washes her hands. She hates tomatoes. Her vocal pitch rises and carries the most lovely tone when she is in the presence of a dog or a baby. She has aspirations of writing a fantasy romance novel. She is always cold, and you are ecstatic to serve as her personal furnace. In your darkest moments, her soothing touch provides a level of comfort that is unparalleled.

Perhaps the most beautiful part of this love story is that there is still so much you don’t know. A lifetime ahead full of new stories, interests, and shared experiences. Your heart is bursting with excitement. You simply cannot wait.

You get married, and some time passes. You are out to lunch with some coworkers when a stranger asks you what high school your wife attended. You know this has come up maybe a couple of times before, but there are so many school districts in Boston, and still so much of this seemingly-gigantic city you haven't explored.

Here are your options:

  • Boston Heights High School

  • Boston River High School

  • Boston Lake High School

  • Boston Creek High School

  • Boston Marathon High School

  • Boston Donuts High School

  • Boston Good Will Hunting High School for the Gifted

  • Boston Park Your Car In Harvard Yard High School

  • Boston Boston Boston High School

  • More Than A Feeling by Boston High School

It does not matter how deep your love flows for this woman. How many spontaneous bouquets of flowers you've brought home on a whim. How much you have melted at the sight of her smile. If you get this wrong, you are accused of being a bad husband on that basis alone, and then they take you out back and show you where you can shove your Philly Cheesesteak Stacker.

Good luck, you piece of shit. Fuck you.

See my point?

I don’t quite understand why this has stuck with me. I think I get peeved when other people outside of my relationship try to tell me what I should be doing to be better. Look, I know I’m not perfect. I’m trying each and every day to be a better man, and in turn, a better husband. By all means, call me out if I ever do something that warrants it.

But does something like not knowing the exact name of her high school warrant it? Apparently so.

Anyway, turns out she knows Emily because she used to be married to Emily’s former cross country coach. They got divorced because the dude was fucking a 16-year-old on the team.

Small world.

References

Footnotes

  1. Independent School District ↩