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This One Time, I Met A Boy

“Go! You might meet someone”.

These are the famous last words spoken by my mother at the end of a very long day of moving apartments. I was tired, and a bit grubby, and not entirely in the mood for going out that evening.

My mother, on the other hand, was kind of tired of her 30-year-old daughter being single. She was optimistic. I was just pissy. However, I had promised my friend Valerie that I would go out with her to this party, and I didn’t want to back out on her at the last-minute.

I took a quick shower, threw on some clothes (I’m normally agonizing over what to wear, so this should give you an indication of my mindset), slapped on some makeup and headed out with my friend.  I was dialing this one in, baby – just call me “wingman”.

I can’t quite remember the name of the mutual friend throwing the party, but we referred to him as “Shoeguy”. He was a social guy with a big personality and an *erm* effusive enthusiasm for shoes and accessories. We discovered in our short wander around his apartment that he had, among other things, a chandelier. In the bathroom.

There MAY have also been a pair of false teeth on a shelf. (Or were they made into a brooch?) And some other oddities instead of the usual tchotchkes. He was, indeed, an interesting guy. Who had interesting friends, as there may have been a guy wearing a kilt, too.

Needless to say, the interesting decor, etc provided plenty of conversation starters. Normally I’m a bit anxious in this type of situation, but since I was too tired to care about making ANY kind of impression, and the vodka and tonics were going down a treat, my friend and I found ourselves in conversation with a guy she had pointed out as being cute. He was good-looking – kind of preppy, in a plaid button-down, and a great head of hair. Not someone I’d have considered her type, but cute.

It was an easy conversation, and his friend was really nice, too.  I got the impression that his friend was interested in mine, so I positioned myself so they could talk – she really deserved to meet a great guy, she was such a lovely girl. (Still is.) During the course of conversation I learned that this guy was on a beach volleyball team. I wasn’t playing in any recreational leagues that summer, and so when invited me to play with his team and asked for my number, I gave it to him.

I was giddy. About playing. Volleyball.

(Oblivious much?)

He did call later, but to ask me out. (!!!??!?!?)

Well, butter my buns and call me a biscuit!

We did go out on that date.

And about three years later,  I married him.

 

I never did get to play beach volleyball with his team that summer, though….

* * * * * * *

The moral of the story?

Listen to your mother.

This post was inspired by a prompt from this week’s Writer’s Workshop. Head on over to Mama’s Losin’ It for more entries in this week’s workshop, wherein you will find stories about acts of kindness, life stories as told by songs, stories from the 4th grade, and things your mama did that you swore you’d never do…

Mama’s Losin’ It

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