“So you kind of
stirred the pot with your latest blogpost.” My boss says to me this morning in
the middle of our Title IX training.
“Stirred the pot
with my blogpost? Uh-oh, with who?”
“People think
you’re getting married.” He says back.
For full effect,
download, “No Way In Hell” by the Bomfunk MC’s and play at maximum volume
throughout the duration of this post.
Historically
speaking, these blogposts are primarily written for my children who have yet to
vacate and/or book a 9-month stay in the nearest available womb. I want them to
know about the crazy adventures their dimwit Dad took before they ever decided
to grace me with their presence. However, every once in a while there perhaps
may be a few other couple hundred bystanders who click on this link for some
witty entertainment on a bi-weekly basis, and are secretly living their single
lives vicariously through my personalized/humorous adventures in the dating
world.
With that being
said, I must say I have been a little taken back as to how many people have
socially assaulted me with point blank questions about the pretty girl with the
rusty voice who I was buying groceries for at Wal-Mart at 3 in the morning.
“Is
this blog post telling me what I think it's telling me?????????????!!!!!” Asks
my old college roommate’s wife.
“Word on the street
is that you might be making some ‘big plans’ in the future with someone.” Yells
a co-worker from down the hall, with an overdramatic “wink-wink” gesture and
embellished smile tossed my direction.
“Who’s this girl
everyone’s buzzing about?” Says a lovely imitation of my Grandma who praises my
blog like it’s her adopted child.
“9-11 Emergency
Meeting through a text. Brockasaurus, are you in L-word??” Writes my honorary
little sister who I haven’t seen in person since Obama’s reelection.
People, people, get
a hold of yourselves! All I did was compare two chick-flick stories between my
high school football coach and my almost dead Great Uncle about how they met
their significant others in dramatic fashions. Who’s to say that I was
referencing anything similar happening in my life at all? I haven’t been to a
stake dance since I still had pimples. I have never attended Utah State
University. And I sure as Shirley have never had the crowds part in a large social
setting, seen a pretty face standing in front of me and knew without a sliver
of doubt she was the girl I was going to marry. Sorry to be the cynical pin bursting
your romantic bubbles, but that’s just not me.
There are a number
of assumptions being tossed back and forth about why I was in Wal-Mart at three
o’clock in the morning holding an armful of groceries, many of them including
the potential of a small ring and a future selection of groomsmen. Who’s to say
I wasn’t just on some daydreaming kick and this entire event didn’t happen
years ago? Who’s to say the pretty girl with a rusty voice wasn’t some kind of
fictional character I made up, a character I hypothetically hope exists
somewhere in the world. Who’s to say I wasn’t just buying breakfast for a chain
smoker standing outside in the parking lot? There are an infinite number of
possibilities that could explain my last blogpost, with me falling victim to
the disease of twitterpation absolutely last on the list.
I guess the point
I’m trying to make is that no, I am not getting married. No, there aren’t any
big plans in the future. No, the Brockasaurus is not in L-word. He will not
pass go, he will not collect $200. Come on people, falling head over heels for
a girl is one of the last things I would ever expect to happen at this exact point.
I’m quitting my job, selling my house, and moving clear across the country for
school in a few months. A bowl of cake batter has better odds of surviving a
woman going through menopause than I do of finding the mother of my future
children at this stage of my life.
“I miss you.” A
pretty girl with a rusty voice says in a text message at 6:54 am Monday
morning, automatically spurring a small rush of emotions that puts a smile on
my face.
Meh…To Hell with
the odds.
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