Ethan Monica

We begin this sultry tale of courtship on the humid Miami afternoon of June 28, 2014, when I (Ethan) attended the Marlins-Nationals game with my now-best man, Henrique. To paraphrase George Costanza, "The team was angry that day, my friends." Angry, determined -- whatever -- something was different about the usually helpless Marlins that night as they scrapped back into the game in the bottom of the ninth inning, down 6-3, with hit after hit after hit. Tied 6-6 and down to their last out following a strikeout from future NL MVP Christian Yelich, Miami sent a relatively forgettable utility player named Jeff Baker to the dish with a runner on third. With one stroke of his Louisville Slugger, he sent Jerry Blevins' first pitch into left field, won the game and, as it turns out, paved a pathway to our marriage.

Call it fate if you believe in such things; call it serendipity or plain blind luck if you're me, but after the game and the euphoria of watching the walk-off, I tweeted a Spongebob Squarepants gif from perhaps the show's most famous episode, "Band Geeks." In it, Spongebob leads the Bikini Bottom Superrrr Banddd in a rendition of "Sweet Victory" -- perhaps the single most famous moment in cartoon history, which is unimportant to this story but always bears mentioning -- along with a comment saying something like, "The @Marlins should really have this song queued up for nights like tonight." Henrique, who at the time was much more active on Marlins Twitter than I was, retweeted it. Monica, also very active on Marlins Twitter, happened to follow him already. She happened to see his retweet. And she happened to retweet it, too. I (Monica) thought it was hilarious and wanted to see the mastermind behind the tweet. The Twitter avi showed Ethan and groomsman Richard. "I don't know who came up with it", I thought "but I like him."

So thank you, Jeff Baker, Spongebob and Henrique (I refuse to thank a cesspool like Twitter), for catalyzing the defining relationship of our lives.

I clicked on Monica's profile only because I had no idea who she was. Her bio proclaimed that she was a Marlins fan, as well as a member of #UF18. Combined with the eye-catching curls and impressive figure decorating her profile photo, I decided, as one horny 18-year-old does, to slide into her DMs. At 9:50 that night, to be precise -- I checked. "Whoooooa," I wrote, "are you really UF18 AND a Marlins fan?!?"

"YEAH!" she wrote back at 9:51, much to my excitement and relief. "Whoa we're like an endangered species haha."

Monica had a boyfriend at the time -- a realization that I, for whatever reason, remember very specifically came while I was gassing up the lawnmower the next day, and that really took the spring out of my yard work step. Nevertheless, I knew early there was something special about her. I remember the first time I saw her, too. It was a FaceTime call, which she preceded by telling me she didn't want me to see her hair looking like a "bird nest," which I assured her was fine. It didn't look like a bird nest then, and never has to me (I have a different opinion on this), and I was absolutely smitten from there. Although given her relationship status, there's a decent chance our relationship would have fizzled -- had it not been for a bit more serendipity.

Monica and I, by pure coincidence, ended up in the same section of a widely hated (I beg to differ, but that's another story) gen-ed class called "What is the Good Life?" That put us in close proximity for three hours each week, and neither of us knew anyone else in the class. Our friendship blossomed, and soon, maybe a week or two after classes began, Monica was inviting me to hang out with her friends. And almost immediately, she dropped a bombshell.

Again, I remember where I was: an elevator in Hume Hall, where she lived, on our way down to go meet bridesmaid Kristen and other friends in another dorm. A couple of randoms walked past us on their way out of the elevator as we entered. When the door closed, Monica turned to me and my then-roommate/now-groomsman Joe and said, "Did you see the guy with the glasses? That was my boyfriend."

I looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "And you didn't even say hi?"

"No," she said. "That was my boyfriend. We broke up..."

I use an ellipsis because I know she said more, but I'd ceased listening. I know, in hindsight, I shouldn't have, but I was too excited. Just like the deflation that descended upon me when I learned she was seeing someone, now she'd pricked me with a helium hose and turned the nozzle to full blast.

We started hanging out more, and soon enough, she told me she'd never been on a date. Ever. I didn't think it possible (I'm not saying this just to be nice) that someone as smart, easygoing and conventionally attractive would never have been asked out, but I was thrilled to end that streak. I bungled the attempt -- I recall her saying something like, "If you're going to ask me out on a date, then ask me." So I did, and she said yes.

I wanted to do something nice on a not-so-nice budget, so I basically hybridized a fancy and non-fancy date. I was nervous during the week leading up to my first date. I came out of class with bridesmaid Katie awaiting a surprise from Ethan, that with Gainesville traffic took almost an hour for him to give me. The night before our date he got me an M&M McFlurry to brighten my day and calm my nerves. The next day I picked her up outside her dorm, bouquet in hand and wearing a fresh-pressed black suit and ferociously gelled hair. I took her, however, to Harry's -- a Cajun place downtown that any Gainesville resident will tell you is not a suit-and-tie-type place. I didn't care. I wanted the night to be memorable for her. So aside from the "fancy" dinner date, I had Joe order cookies just as we were wrapping up the dinner so that they'd arrive at my dorm just before Monica and I, hot and waiting atop my dorm room desk. We planned to watch some movie she wanted to see -- I don't remember which one, but I think a superhero flick (it was Avengers)-- but the TV malfunctioned, so we watched Bob's Burgers instead. Although the watching didn't last long.

A week later, on Sept. 18, I officially asked her to be my girlfriend via a softball scrawled with a loving, cheesy message. She said yes. And nearly six years later, after a trip to New York, two years apart, never spending a single summer together, fights (exceedingly few), drinks (way too many), three Broadway musicals, several seasons of Queer Eye, more cheesecake, McDonalds and Seinfeld episodes than we can count, a bone marrow donation, four combined college degrees and both of us somehow ending up in UTAH, I proposed to her under Delicate Arch with a ring in a case made of a softball, scrawled with an updated, just-as-cheesy message as the one from all those years ago. But because our relationship has been nothing if not full of surprises, even my well-planned, months-in-the-making proposal couldn't go smoothly. Fate/luck/whatever wouldn't be so kind again.

The ring wouldn't fit. Kristen, who I don't blame at all, told me Monica was probably a 4.5. She was wrong. So Monica wore the ring around her pinky on our trek down from Delicate Arch and back to the parking lot. There happened to be a hand sanitizer dispenser in said parking lot, which she used to lubricate her finger and which I used to shove the ring on (my bad). The ring was stuck.

In under 5 minutes, Monica went from engagement bliss to demanding I drive her to an urgent care center, sure her finger was on the verge of purpling.

We tried sunscreen. Nothing. We drove to a local grocery store and bought baby oil and Vaseline. Nothing. We wrapped floss around her finger. Nothing. She held it over her head in a cup of ice water beside a McDonalds parking lot. Nothing. We called urgent care, who suggested sawing it off. We called the nearest diamond jeweler, an hour away, who said he could get it off -- but we decided not to go so far. Instead, we visited a nearby native American jeweler, where a pleasant old woman sprayed Monica's finger with Windex and gently twisted the ring off.

I raised my clenched fists in triumph, ran toward Monica and hugged her. With our first hurdle as life-long partners overcome, we could focus on more important things -- like the lifetime of such challenges, memories and joy ahead.