Brazen

"Mommmy! Mommy! Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahmmmmeeeeeeeeee! Sam and Susie are stuck together in the front yard and we can't get them apart!"

That was the announcement we made to my mother on that sunny afternoon of my childhood.

Sam was our muttish dog, a Beagle and Dachshund mix. Susie was the AKC registered Shelty of our neighbors whose pride and glory was their prize winning dogs. Susie was the youngest among them and the prettiest. Susie was, of course, also in heat. The neighbors had come specifically to ask that Sam be kept away from their yard during this time. My parents complied and when Sam was outside our home he was tied to a lead which was tethered to a stake near the porch.

On this day, Susie came to him. She had dug deeply enough under the chain link fence of her yard to wiggle through and run free. And she ran straight to Sam. And there they were, the two of them, doing IT in our front yard.

Of course, I was young enough and innocent (oh, so innocent) enough to have no clue what was happening. The action elited a lot of discussion amongst my neighborhood friends. We told them to stop! We told them to let go! We told them it wasn't right to be stuck together like that! And then we told my mom.

She of course was at a complete loss as to what to do about it all as well. I mean there it was, a full public display of affection happening in her front yard for all the world to see. And there we were, a half dozen kids with wide eyes and inquiring minds asking the hard questions to a Mama who just. didn't. know. what. to. say.

She turned to my Dad by telephone. First reaching my Uncle Steve who worked alongside my Pop, she blurted out the news: "The dogs are stuck together on the front lawn! What do I do? What do I do?" My uncle's reaction was to double up in red-faced laughter and because he was unable to speak through the roaring guffaws he held out the receiver to my Dad. Daddy picked up the phone to hear the same panic report and with a somewhat subdued giggle in his voice gave the best advice he could muster at the moment: "Honey, pull up a chair and watch!"

Not long after that day, my parents sat me down and I got to hear all about the birds and the bees.

And the dogs.

Something in the Way

IN the beginning, we were childhood friends; then sweethearts who became lovers. We married in the church and began our life together as a couple. We even had children together.
ON STAGE!

Off stage, we were friends. In the groups-of-us-hanging-out-together kind of way. Never a dating relationship, rarely a moment alone in conversation, we two carroused as part of the gang of all of us. I am sure I flirted with him (who didn't I flirt with in those days?) and I am sure that filled him with amorous ideas and pushed our relationship in his mind toward something personal and permanent.

But I had no clue.

For me the first indication of his undying love for all things me was the Sunday afternoon he drove me home from church.

He told me "I just want to stop by my place really quick and tell my parents (who were in town visiting) that I will be back later"

"Sure, okay", I said.

When he pulled his truck into the parking lot of his apartment building he said, "why don't you come upstairs with me? You can meet my folks."

Again I replied with a "sure, okay."

I followed him up the stairs to his second story apartment, he unlocked the door and we entered. His parents were sitting in the living room and both rose to their feet when we walked in. He introduced me first to his father, who reached out his hand and shook mine saying "hello, nice to meet ya!". Then I turned as he introduced me to his Mom who approached me with a broad grin on her face (and possibly mist in her eyes). She reached her right hand out to take mine and then placed her left hand over the top and squeezed as she pulled me in closer.

"Oh, it's so wonderful to finally meet you. We've heard SO MUCH about you." She said.

Whaaa? I am sure I pulled some sort of this-is-an-awkward-moment-face as I pulled my fingers away from her loving grasp and muttered a 'nice to meet you too' kind of reply.

It was an utterly surreal moment for me. If they had HEARD SO MUCH about me, it could only have come from one source.

I felt my heart sink heavy to my belly. Oh, boy.

He and I left soon after that and immediately were back in his truck. As he put the key in the ignition he asked demurely "So, what do you think?"

I exploded. "What do I think? What do I think? That was a supremely awkward thing up there! I am so glad to finally meet you... we've heard so much about you... WHAT have you been telling your Mom about me?"

He was silent for a long time as he drove and then said. "Only how I feel."

Oh, no.

He pulled up in front of my shared college house and cut the engine. I looked at him with his large eyes and flushed cheeks and said, "I think we should talk."

There it was--all of it--being spilled out from his mouth to my ears as we sat on the front lawn. He had loved the name Jennifer all his life--had even named a houseplant Jennifer once, he loved me--he felt it from the moment we met, he knew beyond doubt that he would marry a Jennifer some day, he knew with certainty that I WAS THAT JENNIFER.

As I said before: Awkward.

And how does one turn down an earnest-epiphany-based-marriage-proposal? I am afraid without much grace. I stuttered. I muttered. I FREAKED OUT. And I said, NO.

I had of course, the fallback excuse that I had a boyfriend. It was the truth. The boy who held my heart was at that time 2600.81 miles away doing the very common thing in the culture I grew up in and working as a missionary in the Boston area. We had a deal that as I "waited" for his return, I could certainly "date" others. (Also a very common occurence in this situation) and I think my suitor was banking on me to exercise that option, date him, fall madly in love with him, and write that other boy a letter saying I was getting married. I didn't take that route, at least not for him.

Which, very possibly broke his heart.

We still spent time together post-proposal-disaster, but it was increasingly random and more and more strained. Ultimately, the conversations we had were focused on the work (performances) we did together and nothing more. He was stunning in his portrayal of the man-with-the-broken-heart-who-could-maintain-a-friendship-with-the-woman-who-had-shunned-him. I was simply good at ignoring the awkwardness. Eventually the two of us were married, just not to each other. In the the end, I didn't marry that boy I was waiting for, but someone else, and he did not marry a Jennifer.

Though it's possible they call their DOG Jenn.

Thanks to Brillig and Kate for launching the soapy fun. Today's drama is hosted by Anonymous Soapiness. Pop over to read more stories of adventure, love, and tragic romance.

Things That Make You Go Hmmm...

"Jennifer, I will marry you."

That's exactly what he said. We were sitting on the front lawn of my 12-college-roommates-in-a-house-we-collectively-rented-and-shared under the large willow tree and that's what he said.

Just. Like. That.

But you have to know, I hardly knew this guy. Thus it is safe to make the assumption that he really didn't know me.

We had never kissed.

We had never held hands.

We actually had never even been on a date.

I'll be honest here and say it straight out. I didn't even like him. And? And I had a boyfriend.

Yet, here he was--this twitterpated boy--on my front lawn proposing. Or not proposing actually, but dictating. And declaring his love....


Tune in next time for more in the soapy story I have always wanted to share. Yeah, there will be more to say about this. I promise.

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Some Enchanted Evening

A couple of months ago, a friend moved in with us. Partly for her enriched experience of living in Europe for a few months, but mostly for her saving-my-rear-end by fullfilling the need for a full time babysitter as I began my new job, Elise has been an absolute godsend to our home.We have loved every minute of having her here.

She is a gracious and gorgeous young woman--not quite 20 years old.

These are things I have known about her forever. These are also the things displayed with crystal clarity as the two of us took a weekend trip to Brussels last month.

Most of the time I don't notice the tremendous age gap between us and when I hang with her I am caught up in believing that I too am a mere 20-something year old. Then of course I look in a mirror and wonder why in the world this old woman is staring back at me. But that of course is a lament for a different post. We are talking about Elise here, and I intend to stick to the point.

A weekend in Brussels. Perfect weather; perfect food; perfect company. The two of us schlepped from point to tourist point, enjoying the sights, the shopping and the eating. So much delicious eating!

On Saturday evening as we boarded the underground train there were a couple of men who literally were craning their necks backward to get a better look at Elise as we rode the escalator downward and they rode up. I laughed out loud and said, "You are totally getting checked out here!" She laughed too and demured with an "I know" response.
We set off to see the Atomium at night with it's sparkly lights shining and then took the return trip back into the city toward our hotel.

That's when the oogling fun really began.

On that train were several men (okay, three) who literally couldn't take their eyes off of my traveling companion. They noticed her. We noticed them. They smiled. We laughed. Then one of them got up the courage to approach her. Now, I must mention without sounding too snotty or rude that this man was not what one would consider a "catch". Not by a long shot. He was not tall, dark and handsome but rather a bit on the short side, bald and a slightly funny looking. But he had his eye on Elise (who is tall, blonde and exceptionally beautiful). It took a few minutes of charades and broken speech to determine that between us--in spite of 5 languages--we had very little vocabulary in common. We settled on English as the best option and he struggled through a few questions in order to establish his message.

"This your daughter?" He asked me.

"Yes." I told him. (The truth is I could be her mama. I am old enough and she is young enough and there was really no way to explain the actual relationship. Plus, I can say "yes" in French, so I felt I was doing my part in the multi-lingual exchange)

"Oh, your daughter. Beautiful!"

"Yes, thank you. I think so too"

"Yes, beautiful your daughter. She is my heart."

At this point Elise is getting more than a little creeped out, but she's too sweet to say "ick" and run away, and besides that, where are we going to run? We are on an underground train after all.

The stilted conversation continued for several more stops as this guy declared his undying love for my daughter, and his buddies got up the courage to make a few comments of their own. It was hilariously uncomfortable and I think Elise and I both were tremendously relieved when the train reached our platform. We stepped off.

But so did her suitor.

He just wanted to have a picture taken with her, and he pantomimed what he needed as he handed me his phone and walked toward Elise putting his arm around her waist.

What could I do? (I am nice too, you know) so I said "okay" and got ready to take the photo of them together. At which point he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek!

So somewhere in this great wide world there is a picture of my beautiful nanny and her Portuguese/French loverboy in the Brussels underground. That she looks ready to vomit in the photo could not possibly have dissuaded this man from believing that he had found his true love that night.

And Elise? Couldn't get to the hotel to wash that cheek fast enough.

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This is my first run at Soap Opera Sunday, conceived and launched by the incredible Brillig and her lovely friend Kate. Today's links are being hosted by Thalia's Child and you can read more stories of love, drama and romance by clicking over there.