Two questions I never thought I’d have to ask a man.

Sweet girl at the office:  Do you mind going…”

And before she could finish her sentence:

Me:  “YES, I’LL GO.”

I immediately cut her off and I didn’t wait to hear where.  I just know she wasn’t saying, “Do you mind going back to your desk for 2 days?”

(Though she has clearly thought that, I’m sure.)

(More than a time or 17.)

So a month or so later, I am off to Abilene, Texas.  For work stuff.

(Of course, it was.)

Which was ok.

Small towns aren’t like they used to be.  And I’m fine with that.

After 4 hours on the road, it was clear I needed to get my nails done.

(OK, I just ‘wanted’ to get them done.  Sue me.)

I check in the hotel, throw my stuff in my room, freshen up a bit, go back to the front desk.

Apparently-Too-Young-To-Be-Working-Alone Dude:  “Yes, ma’am…can I help you?”

(Ma’am.)

(He said “ma’am.”)

(Shit.)

Me:  “Where can I go to get my nails done.  And it needs to be really, really close.  Meaning, I can basically see the salon from the parking lot?”

Apparently-Too-Young-To-Be-Working-Alone Dude:  “Ooohhh…I really don’t know.  You could have asked me anything other than that and I’d be ok with it.”

Me:  “Well then, are you married?”

Apparently-Too-Young-To-Be-Working-Alone Dude froze.  Eyes locked.  He said nothing.

It was a long 6 seconds.  For him.

(There’s your “ma’am.”)

I just smiled.

(He ‘did’ say I could ask anything other than that and he’d be ok with it.)

Me:  “I see you have a ring on.  Does your wife get her nails done?”

Apparently-Too-Young-To-Be-Working-Alone Dude:  “Oh, yes ma’am…but I don’t know where.”

(For the love of God, enough with the “ma’am.”)

Me:  “Now see, you should know that.”

Apparently-Too-Young-To-Be-Working-Alone Dude:  “You’re right.  I sure should, huh?”

And he laughs.  A nervous laugh…but a laugh.

He picks up the phone and says, “Yes, I have a lady here that would like information on local nail salons.”

(Lady.  Heehee.  Sweet boy.)

Out from the food/restaurant/cafe/whatever area…he walks out.

In all his glory.  It was love.

Angels were heard.  Or maybe not.  In my head I heard something that involved slang and cursing.

So, probably not angels.

His eyeliner was sheer perfection.  His lashes were longer than I’ve ever seen.

His face?  Flawless.

(Bastard.)

His ink?  Heaven.

Me:  “Sweet heavens, who does your makeup?  It’s flawless…perfect.”

Him:  “Oh, I get all my goods online.  Sephora.  Ever heard of it?”

Me:  “Ever heard of it??  I could live there!”

Him:  “Well, I was gonna say your lipgloss is fabulous!”

(Of course it is.)

Me:  “Mary Kay.”

Him:  “Should!  Have!  Known!  Any God-fearing Texas girl does love her some Mary Kay, doesn’t she?!?”

(Obviously, he could tell I was from Texas and not some other far off state.  Can’t imagine why.)

Immediate friends.

He walked me to the front doors, pointed the direction to the nearest nail salon and suggested I ask for Kim.

Which I totally did.

(And I do believe she could possibly work at the local gentlemen’s club after she files and polishes during the day.)

(Just a hunch.)

Anyway.

So, “Are you married?” and “Who does your makeup?” are two questions I can now check off my list of Questions to Ask A Man.

(Though I need to add that second question to the list before I can check it off.)

Thank you, Jesus.

And Abilene, Texas.