Looking for Love

I was an ugly duckling in my school days. I’d love to tell you I blossomed into a beautiful swan, but that would be a lie. I guess I ended up as a plain ol’ hen. Just one more duck in the flock.

But for an ugly duckling in a small town dates were few and far between. There were boys I liked a lot, but no one I felt was “the one.” The big L was evasive, and I had no indication that college would be any better. I was plain and more than a little weird. Not a great combination.

Then my family moved to Dumas, Texas, from Floydada, Texas, just as I began my senior year of high school. The high school was bigger. There was a larger dating pool. I went out with a few young men, but they just didn’t cut it. I might’ve been plain, but I still had standards.

Then, Studly Doright and I met. I’d encountered him on the condiments aisle at the Piggly Wiggly grocery store that my daddy managed and where Studly worked. Later, miracle of miracles, I encountered him outside the physical education locker rooms after second hour. We had P.E. class at the same time; although, boys and girls were segregated into different gyms in those days.

After many days of innocent flirtation, he asked me to attend the homecoming football game, and I accepted. During the first sweet goodnight kiss at the end of our very first date I was caught off guard. I’d tell you that I saw fireworks and that bells rang, but I did not. Instead, I just had this feeling of peace come over me, like I’d found a piece of heaven right then and there.

After the kiss I went inside the house. I closed the front door and leaned against it. Mom was sitting there waiting up for me with a questioning look on her face.

“Mom,” I said. “I think I might be in love.”

She didn’t laugh at me, or tell me I was being silly, or that it was just a first date and too early to know. She just hugged me.

I guess I’d been looking for love, but hadn’t really expected to find it. I sure recognized it when it arrived, though.

Peace and love, people.

Courting Studly

The title is deceptive. I have no intention of detailing my dating years with Studly Doright. Suffice it to say we made out a lot in parked cars, and at one point he asked, “So, you want to get married or what?”

To which I answered affirmatively, and the rest is history. Ancient and yet present history. No, this post is about Studly answering a summons to report for jury duty here in Gadsden County, Florida.  

I get all excited when I’m selected for jury duty. I’ve gotten the summons many times, but was chosen to serve just once. I think maybe my bright pink Pick Me! Pick Me! banner is a bit off-putting to attorneys. I can’t imagine why.

Studly does not share my enthusiasm for performing his civic duty. In fact, his response to the summons included a string of colorful curse words, and he seldom swears. 

After he calmed down I assured him it was unlikely he’d have to serve. “They call up tons of folks! What are the odds?” I offered to let him take my lucky pink sign. 

Apparently he should’ve taken my sign or purchased lottery tickets this week because he came home from the jury selection on Monday with the grimmest expression I’ve seen outside of a Criminal Minds episode. Another string of imaginative swear words accompanied his telling of the story. I fed him dinner and patted his hand. 

Curious, I asked him if they’d been given any idea as to what crime had been committed. He nodded, thoughtfully chewing an extra savory bite of roast that I’d lovingly prepared, but said he wasn’t able to tell me. 

Now it was my turn to say something colorful. “Son of a biscuit eater!”

So I changed my tack. I cajoled and flirted. Flashed a sexy thigh. Seductively bent over the laundry basket and wiggled my backside. But he wouldn’t spill the beans. 

This morning I sent him on his way with an admonition to be a good little juror, and a husky whisper promising all sorts of naughtiness if he’d just give me the scoop. But, still he refused. 

There’s a reason I call him Studly Doright. Dammit!

Peace, people!


We Know Them, Right?

the aging blonde hovering
beside a man half her age.
touching, always touching,
insinuating her presence.

her friend, a buxom brunette
hovers nearby, laughing,
competing, vying for the
attention of the alpha male.

the drama is intense; the
laughter raucous. thank
goodness I am the observer
and not the observed.

Finding Love at the Piggly Wiggly

Studly and I met on the condiments aisle of the Piggly Wiggly store my dad managed in Dumas, Texas. The year was 1974, the summer preceding my senior year of high school. Studly had recently started working for my dad, and I was new to Dumas, having just moved from the metropolis of Floydada, TX. Yep, Floydada. Look it up; it’s a place.

A provocative question began our romance: “Excuse me sir,” I said. “Could you please show me where the ketchup is?”

I felt a little flustered when he stood up and pointed to the neatly lined bottles of Heinz and DelMonte arrayed right in front of me, and I’m sure my face turned a bright ketchupy red. He was cute, but I was a geek, so I put him out of my mind. The variable I hadn’t considered, though, was my double whammy status as the new girl AND the boss’s daughter.

According to Studly he followed me around town all that summer. I had no idea, and that was a good thing. I was so awkward around members of the opposite sex that had I known of his interest I’d have certainly screwed up any chance of our ever dating. So, I remained happily oblivious until school started.

Call it destiny, karma, or luck, our schedules coincided to put us in the same second hour class that first semester. Studly started walking me to class. He even carried my books, something that was sweet and touching and slightly embarrassing all at the same time. He was funny and easy to talk to and pretty soon I was smitten. I’m glad he was smitten, as well.

Peace, People.