I woke up this morning and realized that once again I had forgotten a card. So today's blog will be a Story to replace a card. Here goes:
Once upon a time there was a woman who was lonely. She wanted someone special in her life. Since she worked in advertising she decided to put a personal ad in the Free Press. After a time she received from the paper two thick manilla envelopes filled with letters.Twenty-seven letters.
She numbered them, because she was known for being organized. And then started reading and dividing the letters into two piles. The pile to the right was the "don't respond to" pile. There were a couple convicts, bad spelling, presumptions, poor penmanship, bad grammar, and some really weird thinking.
On the left were some interesting possibilities. 17 letters. So many men, so little time.
The letters contained phone numbers, so she began calling. Some gentlemen that she spoke to moved into the pile on the right, for reasons often more subtle than penmanship. Gently, she told them it was nice talking to them but made no plans to meet. She had their numbers, they did not have hers. (this was before caller ID.)
So now there are 11. Eleven meetings in 10 days. Some she met for coffee at bustling coffee shops. Some she met for wine in busy restaurants. She had a nice time meeting these guys. They were all charming, nice people. A couple of them thought she was a little weird, too arty (she could tell by the look in their eyes). Oh well.
She was down to the final two, number 26 and number 11.
She arrived at the restaurant wearing a red scarf, it was a cold March night. She was meeting number 26. This was the one who was baking a cake with his teenaged daughter when she had called him. He was the one with the great voice. A voice like heavy rocks rolled in a velvet lined tumbler. A nighttime dj voice without the slop.
There was no one in the lobby with the faux pre-Revolution decor. She stood there. She stood there in the red scarf. And then the door opened. A man came in, then his wife, then two kids, then a man with a red scarf. Number 26. "Oh, my goodness," she thought, "a hunk. I don't have a chance." Not having a chance meant, oh, well, just be yourself and have a nice time.
And so she did, and he did too. He was a architect, a designer. Creative. She was a graphic artist. A designer. They understood each other without being competitive. When she said something she thought was funny, he laughed. He laughed. He got her. Click.
After hours of talking he walked her to her car. He kissed her sweetly on the lips.
The next night she met number 11. A very good guy, in fact, a potential future date guy, but there was just one thing wrong. She had already met her Number One.
Five years later, they married on January 2, 1995.
Today is January 2, 2011.