Come children, gather around the imaginary camp fire... for once again, we will share our annual tale of two unsuspecting kindred spirits, falling (tripping) madly in love..
It was during this week in history, The Commissioner took me man-hunting... for a new, deserving suitor.
We had a specific list of required characteristics.
1.) Suitor must be taller than me.
2.) He must be kind.
3.) He must have a job, with insurance and benefits.
4.) He must be older, established and seasoned in life. With a calm maturity about him (ie.. no 'lil help' repeated jumping off boats)
We entered the finest establishments for Good Husband Meetin: Willy's and Turtles... and like any great hunter, our prey was unsuspecting. We moved stealthily and with a keen, watchful eye. One by one, each Target fell off my radar. Some, for superficial reasons... a few, for fairly legitimate issues: Black socks with faded jeans?? Really??
We returned from our hunt, exhausted but in good spirits and ready for a post-outing night cap.
Upon arrival, we encountered my future Tru Love, the man of my dreams, the father of my children...passed out on the couch. Clothes, boots, hat: all too ready to rally and start Round Two (or knowing him, probably Round Three).
I squeezed in next to my catch, almost immediately smitten. While engaging Coach in witty banter, I remained oblivious that he qualified in Not a Single One, of my Four required categories. * It is not obvious, how Tall a man is, as he sits on a couch.
One would imagine, Coach should certainly qualify in Category Two: though not from the glowing recommendation, Commish bellowed from across the party (and with much conviction).
"No way! Not him! Don't Date my Brother!"
"Stay Away from my Brother! He's NO Good."
And other expletives, not appropriate for blog reading.
* While I understand my posts are often laced with extreme sarcasm, these quotes are exact and without embellishment.
Years later, this is the portion of the story, where I take pause... for certainly, a woman should take the advice of the actual older brother.. Except,
A.) The more negative and Bad Boy the review, the more instantly attractive Coach became.
B.) Also, The Commish's impeccable and well-educated judgement seemed blurred and untrustworthy.
For on this evening, during the most romantic moment of my life, The Commish was dared to eat a piece of dog food.
And. He. Did. Twice. (I'm not sure the second piece was still part of the dare...) Proving my cousin Jackie scored a winner, as well.
Commish: I would like to commemorate this (and every) Valentines, by thanking you for your unsolicited advice. Warning me, so passionately against dating your younger hot mess of a brother, that it pushed me towards him that much harder.
You were so very convincing in your obvious disdain for Coach, I knew this must be the man for me.
Maybe... that was your plan, all along? Maybe, you really wanted us together and only pretended Coach was a Worthless, Bad-news good-for nothing Heartbreaker who would amount to nothin?
Tricky. Tricky. You are a sly one, Commish.
One day, when our children are told an edited, sweeter version of this fairy tale (probably without the dog food)...Commish will be the hero, in our story. The man, who convinced not One cousin but Two cousins, to marry into his family.
Bamboozling two 'brown-eyed' girls, to sculpt his Family Tree, into our Family Wreath. Well played. Hats off...