Let me preface my story by repeating some ludicrous advice my mom gave me when I was a little girl: “someday you will see a man across the room and you will know he is the one.”

　　Well, I’d made it to my mid-30's without getting remotely close to finding "the one," let alone in a casual glance across the room. Instead, I spend too many years in relationships with the wrong men. Then, just bcforc the millennium, a new job and a desire to be nearer to my sister prompted a move from Chicago to Houston. With all this "clean start" symbolism, I resolved never again to date any man who was not marriage material. This meant I went on very few first dates and even fewer second ones.

　　One night I joined a group of friends--all of them coupled, most of them ill-matched--at a popular Huston restaurant. They were giving me grief about not dating. "You should just do it for the heck of it." they said.

　　"Why should I waste my time and their money if I know I am not interested" I responded. "It meet a guy who's my type. I will go."

　　They persisted. "Fine, what's your type'"

　　I had been watching a guy across the room (score for mom) who remind me of my dad: big, well dressed and telling stories with hands flailing the air, much to the delight of his dinner companions, all men in suits and presumably his business associates, 1 pointed.、‘him,’1 told my friends. "I'd go out with him."

　　Well, go introduce yourself," they urged.

　　I would not do such a thing. 1 informed them.

　　"But what if you never sec him again" they asked.

　　Then I will meet someone else，“I said. with impeccable logic，”I'm simply slowing you my type."

　　My friend would have none of it. Taskma,ter Emily suddenly strode across the room and tapped Mr. Right on the shoulder. "Are you gay''" she suddenly strode across the room and asked.

　　"Uh, no," he said, a bit warily.

　　"Are you married?"family continued.

　　"No." he said, amused now.

　　"Good," she said. "That blonde over there", pointing to me while my face turned red as a beet. wants to meet you”

　　“Cool”he replied and walked straight to our table. pulled up spare chair and stuck out his hand. "I-li. I'm Rick."

　　A year after I spotted him across the room,Rick proposed .Six month later,we were married. At our rehearsal dinner, Rick regaled the guest with the story of how we met-his version,which has me knocking over chairs. crawling tables and body-slamming waiters to intruduce myself.

　　We will soon celebrate our third wedding anniversary and are planning to have children-we already have a chocolate Labrador. My mom claims the pooch will trigger my maternal instincts and help me get pregnant.

　　But then what does she know?