I admit this was wrong on SO many levels.
But even I can’t be completely man-free and be good.
I have two tons of errands to run before the Superbowl gathering at my abode.
Therefore, I decide to just get all dolled up in the morning and hope the look maintains itself for the get-together.
It’s a party, people, even if it’s just football: This is the South. You better by-God be gorgeous for a party.
So I deck myself out in my black and gold, well kinda.
I can’t bear to wear gold.
So I wear black slacks, black high heeled boots, black sweater cut to my navel and a white camisole under it. With silver accessories.
I’m sorry, but you know my aversion to Gold.
I’ve explained it.
Even when supporting my team, I can’t wear it.
Style the hair.
Painstakingly apply make-up.
Cloud of perfume.
Set to go on with the rest of my morning routine and my tons of errands.
I’m a weird kid.
I can’t eat in the morning.
I can’t really eat in the afternoon.
It makes me sick.
But I have to have something solid with my medications.
So . . . medications, a saltine and then a Blow-Pop to get the medicine taste out of my mouth.
I jump in my rig, sucker still in mouth, and head off to do my errands.
I’m at a red-light.
Very cute guy in an extremely handsome truck (again, it’s the South, women in the South adore big, beautiful trucks - we can’t help it - mud grips, winches, towing capacity - SWOON) is in oncoming traffic at the light.
I’m assuming it’s the sucker.
I was taught at an early age to work your mouth when you have a sucker or a popsicle.
It attracts men.
Subconsciously, of course.
So he’s staring.
And I’ve been in this man-free zone thing . . . but that doesn’t mean I can’t play a little.
So I wait til he catches my eye, and I wink.
Yep, big ole flirty eyes strike again.
I go about my business.
Until the third light on that particular stretch of road.
Ford F-150 Extended Cab (which will henceforth be his name) has pulled a giddy-up U-turn somewhere and caught up with me.
It was the sucker, I just know it.
He’s frantically flashing lights at me and his buddy is hanging out the side window motioning for me to pull over.
This may sound odd, but it’s an Arkansas standard.
Small towns - nothing else to do but “cruise” . . . and if you see something you like, flash your lights - everyone knows the routine. It’s just how it is.
I pre-dial 911 on my phone (just in case, kids, just in case - I’m a safety girl) and place my finger on the Send button, but pull over and roll down my window.
“Umm, no sorry, fraid not.”
Man-Free Zone, remember?
Yes, it’s wrong to lie.
But hey . . . come on, give a girl some slack.
“Oh. Uh, well, um, I thought you . . . did you wink at me?”
Again, lying, can’t help it. Have to play with their minds just a little, right?
“Yeah, like wink your eye at me?”
“Ummm . . .when?”
“At the light on Hogan, I swear you winked at me.”
“Guess it was a trick of the light. Heading East in the morning and all. I was probably just blinking at the sun.”
“Oh. . . “
Poor baby, he looks crestfallen.
I can’t do this to him.
“But, if I had seen you, I would have winked.”
I laugh out loud. He’s so cute! Like a big puppy dog.
“Well, umm, hey, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I was totally digging the way you were working that sucker . . .”
Digging? He must be older than I thought.
And did he just make reference to my oral abilities?
Not the way to get a girl’s number, boys, not the way.
Cuteness factor dropping.
“And well, if you’re not single, can I ask, I mean, is it serious? Or is it the kinda thing where you can see other people and give other guys your number.”
“Sorry, it’s pretty serious. But thanks for asking. You’re a cutie.”
“Oh, okay, so, yeah, alright, well, I guess . . . bye.”
I’m sure I will be punished for that.
I’m counting on it.
But it was worth it.
Cute boy, big truck, flirting.
Superbowl Sunday, Steelers win.
Good day all around.