Paul and Miriam Kaufman met the old-fashioned way. Drunk.
In November, Paul had gone out with his buddies for a bachelor party. As could be expected, there was alcohol involved. A lot of alcohol.
Miriam, meanwhile, was trying to sympathize with a recently-dumped friend. She had spent the first part of the night sober, patting her friend on the shoulder and telling her that men were scum. As the night progressed, however, Miriam began to get bored with listening to her friend sob. She ordered one drink, then another. Then another. After a little while, her friend didn't seem nearly as irritating.
"Dude, she's hot!" Paul tried to whisper to one of his friends as he spotted Miriam sitting at the bar. Unfortunately, with the amount of alcohol he had consumed, his attempt at a whisper came out as more of a shout. Miriam looked around, trying to see where the voice was coming from. Paul, showing the kind of brilliance that can only come with the death of too many brain cells, dropped to a crouch beside his friend. Then, showing the kind of coordination that comes along with that sort of brilliance, he continued to drop, landing on the floor and spilling beer on himself.
"He fell over!" Miriam exclaimed, trying to stand up to see what had happened. In the process, she knocked over her own drink, finally making her friend laugh. Mumbling something about drying off, Miriam stumbled off towards the restrooms.
"You're hot!"
Miriam turned around when she heard the comment, but her momentum carried her a bit too far and she fell against Paul. He caught her, although not without stumbling a bit. "Hi," he said, smiling at her.
"Hi," she replied, smiling back up at him. That was all it took.
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