It was a Wednesday morning, and I was already regretting my decision to take this dance class for my art requirement at Stockton University. The schedule looked too intense and I wasn't about to make a fool of myself during my second semester at this place. But then, he walked through the door. Time slowed, the music shifted into some dramatic love ballad (in my mind at least), and a beam of light—okay, maybe just the fluorescent lights overhead—shined down on him. His smile was so bright, his eyes were...honestly, probably tired, but he totally had the spirit, and it made me instantly question every decision that led me to this place. My brain screamed, “Uh oh. I’m f!@#$d.” Now, I’m no drama queen (okay, maybe a little), but I couldn’t ignore the undeniable magnetic pull. Something deep within me whispered, “This is it. This is how you meet your future husband.” So, I did what any rational human would do in this situation: Introduced myself as my full government name, made some joke that was only relevant at the time, and got ready to play the long game. Turns out, I wasn’t the only one who felt the spark. We danced—well, attempted to dance—like two clumsy penguins learning the tango, but the connection was undeniable. Every step was a misstep, every spin was a near disaster, and yet somehow, we were the best team on that floor. Am I making this up? Only a little, don't judge. We mostly spent our time watching 'The Office', hanging out with friends, insert something else here, insert something else after that, and being goofballs in Theatre Club. The rest, as they say, is history. He turned out to be a way better life partner than a dance partner. I think we would rather learn how to play complicated board games than learn the cha-cha, but I digress. I can't wait to spend forever with my favorite person, the guy who walked into that class and completely wrecked my plans. I'm so glad he did. - The Future Mrs. Rosewood