Stacey's Mom...or Just Stacey will suffice

Sometimes I don’t believe my ears! Or my hands! I can’t believe the gall some people have. Often I find myself in awe of the antics people pull. “What the fudge?” comes to mind, or “How are they getting away with this crap?” Dating provides a great stage for opportunities to ask yourself, “Oh my crap, did she really just say that?”

Take Stacey, for instance. Stacey was a great girl that came into my life unexpectedly through a friend. I noticed right away that she was friendly, cute, funny, giving and interested in others. I saw her at a few functions and made friends with her to a small degree. In the traditional boy meets girls fashion, I was on the brink of asking her on a date. Only, she beat me to the punch…

On my way home from work one night, I received a call from my little brother and I naturally answered. It was David on the other line asking me when I would be home…because I had a visitor. Huh? He told me Stacey was in the kitchen doing the dishes. What the, what? That was weird, right? Especially considering I didn’t even have the girl’s number yet. How did she know where I lived?

When I arrived at home, Stacey was definitely there, in the kitchen. “Holy Cow that is so nice of you. You didn’t have to do that,” I made my entry to the kitchen. She said she wanted to drop by and say hello. Since I wasn’t here and she noticed the kitchen needed some cleaning, she thought she might clean the dishes while she waited. On the one hand, it’s extremely nice to be the recipient of something like that. On the other hand, was this weird, since I had briefly spoken to this girl twice? It was strange how during the course of about 30 minutes, I went from planning on asking this girl out, to being convinced that she was a maid-service stalker-girl jonesin’ for a dating seminar. Shiz!

After a bit of conversation, the awkwardness took over so I made an excuse to have to go do some errands. I remembered an undeveloped roll of film in my closet that would serve nicely as my excuse. She promptly volunteered to go with me, and drive me. How could I deny that? It was like I was paintballing but instead of avoiding getting splattered, I was trying to dodge charitable acts of kindness. She was totally winning.

On the way to the photo store, it became apparent this girl had built up a huge fluffy fantasy with me as the co-star. My favorite song (to make fun of) came on the radio. Yeah, you guessed it, “Hanging By a Moment” by Life House. Crossing the Riverdale Road viaduct, I kept catching Stacey looking over at me with starry eyes.

My Mind: This is weird! I know she has totally planned out the next 40 years of our lives together. I wonder when I can get back home and play my guitar. I hope she doesn’t jump on me like Marty McFly’s mom, Lorraine, did in Steven Speilberg’s 1985 classic film, “Back to the Future”.

Her mind: I’m falling even more in love with this guy. I can’t wait until I get to hold his hand. I wonder how many other times he’s held a girl’s hand. Oh my gosh, I have a boy in my car!!! Oh my gosh!! I can’t decide if we’ll name the first Hyrum or Lehi.

After getting out of the car, I skirted her playful, flirty junior high shoulder hits as best I could. It became glaringly apparent that she didn’t care and wouldn’t take “No” for an answer when she grabbed my hand on the way in Fred Meyer. “Holy fetch, I have a girlfriend,” I screamed…inside. I immediately switched up my hands and got the film out of my pocket to have an excuse to let go of her hand. Then I promptly put my hand in my pocket. She didn’t care, though; she might have been a lot of things, but she was not shy! What happened next should not have surprised me, but it did. Right as we were walking in to the store, I felt her reach in my pocket, grab my hand, and pull it out with her increasingly unattractive mitt. Once again, against my will, we were holding hands walking into the neighborhood friendly grocer on the way to the photo counter.

What a great experience. Next time, remind me to check a girl’s dating history to weed out any clueless desperada’s that might otherwise get pulled in by my increasingly skeptical selective dating rod and reel.