9.26.26

Like most great love stories, ours began with a simple swipe right, a church festival… and a Puerto Rican sitting on a chair on the busiest road in Cedarburg. I was on my way to a church festival in West Bend with my friend Kevin. On the drive, we did what any responsible adults would do — we stopped at a dive bar for dinner and cocktails. While eating, drinking, and discussing our plans for the evening, my phone buzzed with a Tinder notification. Yup. Another big-haired girl — this one from Green Bay, purple hair, holding a cat, and more chins than a Chinese phonebook. Definitely not my type. Hard pass. Moving on. But Kevin was curious, so I opened the app to give him a quick “tour.” And right when the app opened… there she was. Lindsay. At the time, I didn’t know it yet — but I was looking at my future wife… or at least someone who would soon be aggressively questioning my age. I swiped right and sent a polite message asking if she’d like to meet at the church festival in West Bend or grab coffee sometime. Then… nothing. Days passed. No response. I accepted defeat and assumed she had zero interest in nice guys. Case closed. That assumption didn’t last long. Late one Tuesday night, around 11 p.m., my phone started blowing up. Half asleep and confused, I grabbed it, wondering who on earth was aggressively messaging me on Tinder. It was Lindsay. No hello. No apology. Just a barrage of messages accusing me of lying about my age. I responded with two words: “I’m 49.” Sent. Silence. A few minutes later, she explained the issue — my Tinder profile showed me as 39. I told her I had just shared my real age without being asked and without even knowing what she was seeing on her screen. Somehow… that worked. We kept texting. I may — or may not — have begged her to go out with me. She had a few excuses, but eventually she agreed. Our first date was on a Saturday — also my daughter Ella’s birthday — so after celebrating with her, I rushed back to my apartment in Cedarburg to change my shirt (which had a very impressive ketchup stain), then jumped back in the car to meet Lindsay. We planned to meet at North 48 around 7:00 with one condition: I had to wait outside so she wouldn’t have to walk in alone. I agreed. So there I was, sitting comfortably on a chair on the sidewalk in front of our meeting spot… on Cedarburg’s busiest road. Not every day you see a warmly tanned Puerto Rican man looking slightly nervous and very committed to his assigned waiting spot. Later, after a few drinks, she admitted she had actually driven past because she missed the turn to park and briefly thought to herself, “Should I just keep driving?” Eventually, she parked, walked over, smiled, and said: “What’s up, punk?” From there, the night just clicked. We had drinks, played games, pulled tabs, and swapped stories. I quickly learned that Lindsay is extremely competitive — something I admired immediately and would later learn to survive. I’d never had so much fun on a date just sitting, listening, laughing, and wanting to hear more. That night, I knew. She was going to be my future wife. Four wonderful years later, I’m looking forward to a beautiful life with this amazing woman who unexpectedly — and perfectly — walked into my life. And yes… she now knows my real age. And somehow, she still said YES!.