I have one brown shoe in mine.
I was reading a blog today and this absolutely cracked me up, both because of the sarcastic nature and searing truth to it. It discusses graduating college without her wedding lined up for that summer:
"I actually graduated single, which was a risky choice. Everybody knows a girl doesn’t get married within 3 months of graduation has a 76% higher chance of never saying “I do.” It’s a good thing I met Dan or right now I’d be icing the cake of my own tragedy. Whew. Guess I dodged a bullet that time."
Stacey from Louisville truly knows what she's talking about, but I think the statistic may be even higher for us Southern Baptist girls.
It actually has something to do with the story I was going to tell for your reading pleasure today. It is the story of Friday night, in which I ventured bravely into the dating pool and ended up with a brown shoe in the freezer.
I was set up with a friend of the husband of a friend, and he is a very nice guy. I am not going to write much about him, because he is a very nice guy, and I want to respect that. But there is one thing I am going to write about. His tattoo.
He has a tattoo of his daughter on his forearm. A photographic image of his daughter on his forearm. Like, line up a bunch of kids and I could totally pick out which one she is kind of tattoo. I first noticed it when we had our Starbucks "get-to-know-you" (which, incidentally didn't make it less-awkward for the actual date, but instead more awkward during the date). But all night long, knowing it was there...it was like it was staring at me. And it was creepy. And like a train-wreck that you couldn't take your eyes off of. The one thing that was hilarious was when I told my friend PandaMom about it, and she said that if I played my cards right, I could end up on the other forearm. Yep. That's why she's my friend. She totally gets me!
As for the date itself, he was nice and bought me a beer and a snowcone and some popcorn, and wouldn't let me pay for anything, and was very sweet and careful with me all night long. He was a great sport about being stuck with four teachers that did nothing but talk about teacher stuff all the live-long night.
But he wasn't "it". I hesitate to use words like "him" or "the one" because I'm still struggling (very much lately) with the concept of a soulmate and whether or not there's that "one" soulmate for me. Instead, I use "it." He was kind, which is one of my top requirements for a relationship, but he didn't make me laugh, and he didn't leave me wanting to talk to him more, and I don't necessarily think that it was his fault. It just wasn't right for the two of us. Which leaves a girl a little disappointed after finally getting out into the dating world again, only to find it wanting. Such is life sometimes. I try to be a good sport, but it is a little disappointing nonetheless.
Especially when the most memorable thing of the evening (other than the tattoo, of course) is that I got a big wad of gum on the top of my brown shoe.
Which is why it's in my freezer.