Thursday, November 18, 2010
The Blind Date
Those are blindfolds, in case you're wondering. Blindfolds, blind date...get it? Anyway....
Talking with a friend recently reminded me of my genetic disability to be a normal human being. At one booksigning, someone referred to me as "quirky." To which two fellow authors responded, "Quirky doesn't begin to cover it."
I've been called worse. Usually by friends.
Anyway, the conversation brought up one particular incident involving the kid sister of a good friend. I'd gone by her house one day, and little sister was getting ready for a date. It was a blind date, but she was wildly enthusiastic. (This was a girl who, as a child, got overly excited by the little piece of crap in the Cracker Jack box.)
So as I was headed toward the front door, a car pulled up to the curb. I didn't have a clue as to who it was. Just for laughs, I yelled out, "Hey, Cindy, your date's here." What happened next was priceless.
Eager-beaver Cindy came flying out of the house, down the walk, through the gate, and jumped into the car. Her sister, Kathy, looked at me. "That was mean," she said.
"It's a nasty habit. I'm trying to quit."
"No, you're not."
"Okay, you're right. I'm not."
Car door opened again. Cindy came backing out slowly, stormed up the walk, looked me in the eye and said, in a menacing tone, "I don't care HOW long it takes, I'm going to get you for this one."
"Good luck with that."
She hasn't so far.