Apparently, it’s true.
I can’t do two things at once. Those two things being:
I know. Lame. I get it. Grow up. Be a real woman. Suck it up and multi-task. Yeah. Sure. Uh, huh.
Not a whole lot has happened since I last did this blog thing back in 1972.
Well, I did go on a date.
He was cute.
(Well, really cute, if I’m honest.)
(Like when I’m walking up to the table and he turns to meet me, in my mind I’m screaming, “Sweet Jesus…Momma has hit the jackpot!” kind of cute.)
You know how when you have lipgloss on your teeth? Or salad dressing on your chin? Or cellulite on your ass? You kinda feel like you reeeeally need to do something about it, right?
Well, I that’s how I felt after that date.
For so many first dates…I left thinking, “Nice dude, but don’t be calling me later.”
Not this one.
It was the most perfect date with the most perfect man. And when that date was over, I immediately knew I was going to have to do something about it.
So. I married him.
It’s all I could think to do! I was completely off my A-game! I just did not see this coming!
It was just supposed to be another first date with another nice guy who would be another phone call I wouldn’t answer later!
He had to go and be all romantic-ky and gentlemanly and perfect manner-ly and cute and know how to have a decent conversation that didn’t include questions like, “So, are those real?” and “Do you like sex?” and “Are you into girls, too?”
(Ain’t kidding. Go on and be single for a while and you’ll see.)
So, it’s kinda his fault.
He said he liked my wit. My smile. My accent.
(And let’s be honest, probably my fake charm I loaded down with after I saw him.)
(And batty eyes.)
(Not ‘batty’ like the rabid thing that comes out at night, either.)
Seriously. The very thing that has sent people running for a dictionary or a thesaurus or an encyclopedia or just big, overstuffed ear muffs is the very thing that reeled this man in.
(I’ll never understand life.)
He made me blush.
(Which ain’t happened since 7th grade when my bra strap broke in my English class. So, I just took it off and jammed it in my purse.)
(No, not in class. By my locker.)
Yep. I said “I do” on March 28.
(Yeah, it was a Thursday. I’m traditional like that.)
No ceremony. No family. No nothing.
Just us, his sweet daughter and the pastor. At our house.
(And my lipgloss, of course.)
(The sweet daughter is a joy.)
(The second love of my life.)
(And she’s a teenager.)
(Lots of estrogen swirling around that house now.)
(But I love her. Dearly.)
I still can’t talk about him without getting all giddy and stupid. I go into total douche-mode.
I don’t even know me anymore.
(Well, I guess I kinda HAVE totally remodeled life.)
(So, why should I know me? Right?)
It’s like I’m in junior high again and that cute boy in Algebra keeps kicking the back of my chair.
(Wait. I didn’t take Algebra.)
(It’s stupid and nobody should have to take it.)
I kinda get sick being around me a little. And others probably do, too. But I don’t care. I can honestly say I’ve never been so loved and I’ve never loved so much…so, I’ll take all the giddyness and stupidness and blushiness for as long as it lasts.
Because Sweet Jesus, MOMMA HAS HIT THE JACKPOT!