Four Feet More

Jeff and I met when I was 19. I was working as a “kennel girl” in a local pet hospital, and he was the UPS driver who delivered our supplies. I was attracted to him the moment I saw him. How could I not be, when he strutted around so confidently in those cute little brown shorts and boots? I even once made my way to a coffee shop near the pet hospital where he was making a delivery in an attempt to “cross paths” and get his attention. Much to my dismay, the plan didn’t work.

After I became a receptionist at the pet hospital, I saw Jeff on a more regular basis. At first his brooding intensity captivated me, in a Mr. Darcy kind of way. My friend Mel and I decided to make it our personal mission to get him to crack a smile. All efforts failed, and the “brooding intensity” thing quickly lost its appeal.

Then, in the summer after I graduated from college, everything changed. My friends and I went to Miyake’s, a wild sushi restaurant near Stanford where a disco ball hung from the ceiling and patrons stood on their chairs doing “sake bombs” as servers and diners cheered them on. Unbeknownst to Mel and I, our antics were being observed. The next day at work, the “UPS Man” (or “Mr. Personality” as we had snarkily begun calling him) walked in, looked at us with a poker face and said, “Ichi, ni, san! Sake bomb!” Our jaws dropped to the floor and I believe I turned about a thousand shades of red. This marked the turning point in our relationship. Jeff began talking to me and Mel, and we soon discovered the he wasn’t a brooding type of person at all. He had been treated pretty rudely by our boss on several occasions (she wasn’t that nice of a person), and therefore made his visits to the pet hospital as brief and impersonal as possible.

It wasn’t long before Jeff decided to ask for my phone number. He went to the payphone around the corner from the pet hospital and called the front desk. He had some romantic thing planned, I’m sure, but Mel saw him in the phone booth on her way into work. In her forthright manner, she asked him what he was doing, decided he was going to ask me out, and then rushed into the reception area saying, “Jen, you’re relieved. I’m taking the front desk. Go outside to the phone booth now!” At that same moment, my rude boss looked at me with a smirk and said, “Jenni, the ‘ups man’ is on the phone for you.”

The rest, as they say, is history. Jeff and I began dating not long after, and with the exception of one 24-hour period when we broke-up, have been together ever since.

During our whole “getting-to-know-you” phase, I was shocked to learn that Jeff was 10 1/2 years older than me. He certainly didn’t look it, and, if I’m honest, didn’t really act it either. I decided that he was a nice enough guy that I would bend my personal rule about not dating anyone more than 10 years older than me, and not hold his age against him. Other than the times when we discuss “Star Wars” (I was 4 when it hit theatres, he was 15), the age thing doesn’t come into play all that often.

On Wednesday, my dear husband turned 45. This is the 12th birthday I have spent with him, and I’m pleased to say that over the years, we have only grown closer. We’ve weathered his transition from UPS Man to Real Estate Broker, and my transition from the pet hospital to large university/children’s hospital, to teacher. Jeff and I have seen and done some pretty amazing things together, the most significant of which was adopting Vika and Eamon. He’s a wonderful spouse, a devoted father, and a great friend.

Happy birthday Jeff. The kids and I love you like crazy, and look forward to many more birthdays shared with you in the years to come.


Jeff at Chitzen Itza













On our honeymoon in the Outback













At Oktoberfest (don't know what I was thinking with that hair!)


















Together in Arizona