Well, most of it. I don’t have time to write the entire full-blown story with all the details and color commentary, but the gist of how Jack and I ended up together is as follows:

Back when I was a street cop, I was involved in an call that started out as a shoplifting, turned into a pursuit, and ended up as a shooting/possible hostage situation. During this incident, the suspect shot at another deputy and then tried to shoot me, only failing to do so because his gun jammed. (Note: This is the incredibly abridged version of that incident.)

Suspect was apprehended and arrested, and several months later the matter came to trial. The prosecutor was an older (than me), seemingly gruff man, and because my role in the incident and arrest had been somewhat significant, I ended up testifying for close to an hour. After the trial the prosecutor called me and told me I’d done a good job on the stand, and then told me he’d call me about coming to the sentencing hearing. (Note: Again, somewhat abridged, but you get the drift.)

Fast forward another couple of months. I was at court for some routine traffic-type trials, and a DWI attorney asked me out. I wasn’t too sure about him, so I asked one of my teammates to ask his wife–who happened to be a prosecutor–what she thought of this DWI attorney. He came back the next day and said, “Julie said, ‘Not no, but HELL no, but what about going out with Jack?’” I said something like, “Jack Who?” at which point my teammate reminded me that Jack was the prosecutor during the big shooting trial. I said something encouraging like, “Sure, what the hell,” and the next day I got a call from Jack, asking me out.

Jack told me he was interested in taking me to a restaurant in Ponchatoula, and since he lived on the side of the parish that was closer to Ponchatoula (and I lived on the opposite end of the parish) I offered to drive to Mandeville and meet him at his condo.

Now, a quick side note: During the trial, I was dressed like a Cop. I’d just been through a several-month period of extreme fitness and weight loss, and was in the best shape of my life, however, when one is dressed in combat boots, brown polyester uniform, and duty belt, with minimal makeup and short-ish hair, one does not necessarily look terribly feminine. Or cute. Or attractive.

For this date, I’d dressed like a Girl. I was wearing black, low-rise stretch pants, a fitted white blouse, I had makeup on, and my hair was nicely styled. I looked Hot.

I made it to his condo, and when I got out of the car he looked at me and said, “Y’know, I had no idea what you really looked like. You look nice.” It’s difficult to recapture the ho-hum nonchalant way he said that, but be assured, it was definitely without any sort of exclamation mark. (I did not know at the time that he has the dryest sense of humor on the planet.)

Anyway, despite that strangely lukewarm start, I got into his car and we headed to this restaurant. We ended up having a terrific time, and talked about all sorts of things. He was funny and intelligent and interesting, and after dinner we went dancing, and then went out to the lakefront and talked about a million more things.

Eventually we returned to his condo, where he asked me if I wanted to come in for a few minutes. I said Sure. We went inside, and he started to show me around the place. All was going well until we reached the master bedroom, where he stopped and said, “I don’t remember that being there.” (Referring to a wrapped present on his bed.)

When he said that, I went into Cop-Mode and said, “You should check the rest of your residence.” (I did not realize, at the time, that Jack is frickin’ deaf, and didn’t hear me say that.) I went back out to the living room, and then suddenly heard Jack’s raised voice saying, “What are you doing here?! You need to leave!”

I turned around to see a statuesque blonde coming out of one of the other bedrooms, and Jack with a horrified expression on his face. The first thought that flashed through my mind was, “Shit. My gun is in my car.” And so, I did the only other thing I could think to do: I folded my arms across my chest, leaned back against the kitchen table, and gave her a Cop Stare. I don’t know if she realized it was a Cop Stare. She might have been thinking it was a Drunk Bimbo Stare.

Anyway, whether it was my Cop Stare or Jack’s horrified pleas, she slunk out without causing any scene. I then gave Jack a Questioning Look, at which time he informed me that he’d recently broken up with her.

I later found out that “recently” meant the day before. [insert eye roll.] Apparently she had thought that I was someone else, and when she saw that I was not the someone else who she thought I was, she was hideously embarrassed enough to not want to cause any sort of incident. (To be honest, I actually felt kinda sorry for her.)

But, despite the eventful end to the evening, I went out with him again. After the third date we were definitely “an item.” Six weeks later he asked me to marry him. By May we’d found a house to rent and had moved in together. In July we were married.

Seven years later, and we haven’t killed each other yet!