Monday, December 10, 2012

meeting Danea

            This is about the woman, Danea (pronounced like Dana but spelled with an e), who became the love of my life or maybe the one I am a little scared of. I’m not sure she is the love of my life, but she says she is and I am too scared to contradict her (or I am not smart enough which seems much more likely).

                 See, my sister has a simple system of getting things she wanted (our brother was a reward/incentive). She got rid of people she didn’t like (sending me in to get them to leave her circle). Everything was fine until Danea had to go and ruin everything.
                Danea had something shiny Janie Mae wanted (the exact phrase my sister used was, “Oh, shiny”) but rather than going with Joseph, Danea told Janie I was the reward Danea wanted. Janie tried to convince her otherwise, tried to make Danea see the error of her ways but Danea was insistent. So this is the story of how I met Danea (and things that occurred later).
                Janie pushed me towards her where Danea scribbled a series of numbers on my hand. The pen dug into my flesh and even though I tried to pull away her grip was like a vise. When she finished writing, she released my hand and whispered, “If you think that hurt, wait until later.” With that, she left. Janie demanded to know what she had said but I kept that little treasure to myself.
                Danea arrived in a red dress and hair coiffed. I came in a t-shirt and jeans. Obviously she took this more seriously than I did. Of course, if you know me than you know that is not hard to accomplish. Serious is not something I excel at.
                “Why do you spell your name so crazily? There’s no e in Dana so why do you insist on putting one there? Is there something wrong with your spelling ability?” Normally, going on the attack works. It forces my date into a defensive position, which means my later moves go down smoother. Not with Danea. She avoids the whole mess altogether.
                “Keep talking like that and there won’t be a second date.” She leaned back into her chair.
                Sucking down the buffet shrimp, I told her “I don’t care about a second date. I’m just here for the food and God willing, some sex.“ Another specialty of mine is mentioning physical relations but not saying with whom. That leaves the night ending with someone open. Danea doesn’t buy into it.
                “Oh, you say the sweetest things,” she replied. At this point I know I am in trouble since my two early moves have been avoided. It is like she knew what I was going to do before I even did it. Like someone had coached her. Like this had been set up before
                “I see you came prepared for this” I said, looking into her green eyes.
                “Gee, what ever could you mean?” Danea asked as she batted her eyelashes innocently and folded her arms over her chest.
                She didn’t sleep with me that night. I thought it was over. I was wrong. She was just getting started with me. As I sit here typing this I realize she ruined me for unintelligent women. She made me realize I need someone to challenge me (and she did every day of our exasperating, beautiful relationship).
                The next time I saw her was when she showed up where I was working at the time. I say “at the time” since I change jobs like most people change socks. She stopped at the front desk where, when they asked whom she was there to see, she told them we were newly married. She even had on her spare wedding ring.
                As soon as she said it multiple heads raised their heads above their cubicles like gophers coming out of a hole. They all wanted to know who would dare marry me and who would even admit it. People surrounded her. I couldn’t see her through the mass. Later she said she thought some of them even sniffed her. I don’t doubt it. People are strange. I brought the ring thing up. I asked her what kind of person has a spare wedding ring just for emergencies. Actually I think the word crazy slipped out of my mouth. In case you don’t know, calling a woman crazy is never a good idea.
                “Is this really the conversation you want to start with?”
                My head lowered. “No, ma’am.”
                I was doomed.

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