It was a mundane Wednesday night in Columbia, Missouri. Most of the students had gone home for the summer. Campus was empty. The bars were bare. The lone bright spot - penny pitchers at Fieldhouse. Despite the missing students, it was generally a raucous event. Neither of our soon to be newlyweds were interested in going out that night. Both had work the next morning and didn't envy the hangover that surely followed. Nonetheless, both ventured out to please their friends and partake, for at least a drink or two. As Chris entered the bar, he searched for his friends. As he set out for the grimy dance floor in the back, a woman unceremoniously bumped into him. He apologized and kept walking. On the way he stopped and bought a beer. As he left a second time, he was stopped again. "Hey, nice pink shirt!" a woman shouted. Politely offended, he turned and remarked "Thank you, but it's orange," before continuing on his way. Chris hadn't noticed, but the woman who "admired" his shirt was the same who had bumped him - Alexis Marcus. She had been trying to get his attention, but he hadn't stopped. She was disappointed, but she stayed with her friends. Alexis continued enjoying her night when, suddenly, an unrequested shot appeared before her. She turned, and there was Chris, wearing his ORANGE shirt, in all its glory. The two separated from their respective friend groups and talked for the rest of the night. They discussed all the normal topics - school, work, likes, dislikes. At the end, as Alexis's eyesight started to cross from the libations, Chris asked if she would have dinner with him. She said yes, and the two parted ways. The rest, as they say, is history.