Steph is a Giants fan, so when they made it to the Super Bowl in 2012, she put together a viewing party in our building’s common room in London. Her roommate was a friend of mine, so I dropped by to scavenge the pizza and buffalo chicken dip. The seat closest to the hors d’oeuvres also happened to be the one closest to Steph, so I sat next to her. The first thing I said to her was, “So where you from?”
“The Jersey Shore,” she said.
“Wow,” I said, “I’m surprised you’re willing to admit that.”
“Oh you can go fuck yourself,” she said. “That show is bullshit. Most of them aren’t even from Jersey. And I’m not from Seaside where the show is shot. I’m from Point Pleasant. Home of Jersey Mike’s.”
“I’m more of a Subway guy,” I said.
She turned to my friend and said, “Who is this fuckin’ guy?”
It was love at first “go fuck yourself.” We eventually started dating, and when we moved back to the US, we both moved to Washington, DC. But I knew staying with Steph inevitably meant that someday I’d be moving to New Jersey.