ftp.wwiv.com/ftp.wwiv.com.zip/ftp.wwiv.com/pub/BBS/RUBYV40.ZIP/RUBY40-2

Text File | 1994-12-15 | 8KB | 148 lines

Copyright 1994(c)
                     BACK IN THE SADDLE...
                 Once I Make it Past the Stall
                        By Cindy Lindley

     Divorce does funny things to your confidence. And just when
you start getting it back on line, it's time to date.
     Memories of awkward moments with stumbling hormone-ridden boys
in their fathers' souped up station wagons with windows that
steamed embarrassingly easy return to haunt me as I prepare to
venture back out into the jungle, leaving Tarzan and his new
girlfriend, Cheetah, behind. Ten years was a long time to spend
with a man who couldn't talk to me, and even if he did, I didn't
understand what he was saying half the time. (If only he'd learned
to grunt with inflection...)
     It is with some sadness and some excitement that I say goodbye
to the jungle and return to the city from whence I came. Praise be
to mass merchants, praise be to grocery stores, praise be to
Alexander Graham Bell... (that hollering was making me go
deaf...especially at night when, well, you know...)
     "Thank you for shopping at WalMart."  An attractive young man
hands me a bag filled with a new kind of underwear called THONG.
It doesn't really look comfortable, but I decide to try it because
anything I don't have to kill, skin and sew myself is worth the
investment.
     "Me Jane!"  I blurt out, thumping my chest.
     His eyes follow my thump, then move down to my bare legs and
dirty feet. He smiles. "Hi, Jane. Go visit our shoe department then
come back and see me."
     Hmmm, I can't imagine what there is to visit in a shoe
department so I leave. A few hours later I find out I was right
about the discomfort of the thong underwear. Not having any REAL
hard feelings against my ex, I pack the things up to mail to him,
figuring if he can't convince Cheetah to wear them, maybe he can
use them for slingshots.
     Three weeks after the strange invitation at WalMart, I feel
once again confident about being in the city as a single woman. My
father is not so confident.
     "Things have changed, girl. Nowadays you shouldn't go on a
date without bringing a raincoat. Hell, you shouldn't even go out
of the house without one."
     "I think I'll stick with my umbrella."  I respond, looking
heavenward with the faux patience of my thirty years.
     "An umbrella ain't going to protect you from lightning, girl.
Only rubber can protect you from lightning."
     I offer my father a wry grin that should, after all these
years, be a warning to him. "Actually, Dad, I'm kind of hoping for
lightning. It's like natural fireworks..." I let my sentence drift
off with mildly suggestive humor. Humor that my father usually
appreciates being my good friend as well as my patriarch.
     He snaps at me, "I ain't talkin' about THAT kinda lightning,
girl."
     With a heavy sigh, I raise my hands in surrender, "Okay, Dad.
I think I've got the message. When it rains, it pours and I'd
better be prepared, right?"
     He grunts, using the inflection I once sought in my husband,
and awkwardly pats me on the shoulder. He is satisfied. His mission
was successful and he never once had to use the word condom.
     It has been two months since I waved goodbye to Tarzan with
a flip of my middle finger. My confidence is finally returning. I
have a date.
     "How about lunch tomorrow?"  Ralph asks, his voice dropping
an octave in an attempt to be suave.
     I study his waggling eyebrows and slightly wicked half-grin
trying to figure out why a man who just met me a few hours ago
would invite me to lunch with the slight implication that he's been
on a forty-day fast and I'm the main break course. Shrugging
offhandedly, I accept his invitation with only mild interest. What
the heck, I've gotta start somewhere.
     The next day we meet at a pre-arranged spot. I exit my car
with a smile and just a little more confidence in my step than I've
had in a while. He is less energetic.
     "Sorry, I'm not feeling very well."  He apologizes, shifting
uncomfortably.
     Immediately the mother instinct emerges. "Well, why don't we
do this another time?  You go on home and get some rest and take
care of whatever ails you."  I'm not offended. Sickness is a fact
of life, not a slight of it.
     "No, no!"  He waves away my offer with impatience. "I've
really been looking forward to this. I'll be okay. It's just a
little stomach problem."
     "A stomach problem?  Then you don't want to be around food.
Let's just forego today and you call me when you're feeling
better."  I start to move back to my car.
     Ralph puts a restraining hand on my arm. "Come on."  He
replies firmly, "I'll be alright."
     "If you say so..." I answer doubtfully, but move toward the
entrance of the cafeteria style restauraunt at his prompting.
     As he opens the door for me a cacophony of smells pour out an
assault on my nose. I turn to him quickly, "Run. It's not too late
to save yourself." I can't imagine what the odors might do to his
stomach.
     He laughs shakily, "Don't be silly. Go."
     I hesitate for a second, then obediently join the line and
work my way past acres and acres of steaming aromatic food. Ralph
studiously ignores the offerings and settles for a glass of water.
We find a table, and I attempt to make witty conversation using
anecdotes that I have practiced all night long. I am halfway done
with my meal when Ralph excuses himself to go to the men's room.
     Thirty minutes later, I tap on the stall*. "Are you okay?"
   His reply is muffled. "Yeah, I'll be right out."  He exits the
men's room looking like he's been stuffed into the toilet by a
bully.
     Returning to maternal mode, I take his arm and lead him from
the restauraunt. "You need to get home. Are you okay to drive?"
     He looks uncertain. I take pity on him and usher him to my
sporty new car that I bought after leaving the jungle. "I'll take
you. You can make arrangements later to pick your car up." He does
not argue and in minutes we are on the expressway speeding toward
his house.
     We hit a gridlock where 3 of 4 lanes are closed for
construction and he says, "You might want to pull over."
     Frantically, I look at the highway cement divider wall on one
side and at the traffic converging on me on the other side. There's
nowhere to go!
     Seconds later, I hear Ralph saying his own name, over and
over. I cringe in sympathy for him and my car. Jerking my wheel
over, I force the cars to let me pass so I can run over the traffic
cones blocking access to the side of the road. I screech to a halt.
He yanks open his door and continues saying his name, punctuating
the litany with, "Shit, I can't believe this is happening."
     I feel bad for him, but worse for myself as I watch the self-
confidence I had dwindle. How many other guys would I make toss
their cookies on the first date?
     After handing him a few banana leaves left over from my time
in the jungle and giving him a few moments to clean up and compose
himself, I start the car back up and pull back into traffic, not
caring that I'm doing 40 over the speed limit to get this guy home
before he decides to see how much space is left in the glove
compartment.
     He is mortified. I try to ease the embarrassment with humor.
   "Look at it this way, after this, our dates can only get better.
     "Hey!  One day you'll laugh about this. You'll be telling your
son what NOT to do on a first date, 'Yeah, boy, and don't forget
to bring a condom and a barf bag. Better to be prepared.'
"Then there's the fact that you've guaranteed I'll never
forget you.
     "You know, I was afraid you wouldn't like me, but I really
didn't think I'd make you SICK!"
      After all this, he is cracking up, but still embarrassed I
think. When we arrive at his house, he gets changed and cleans up
my car. "I owe you bigtime. Why don't you let me detail your car
when I'm feeling better. You won't believe the job I can do...It'll
look like NEW!"
     I smile weakly at Ralph H. Earl  and murmur, "it WAS new."
      My Dad was right. And that's the last time I'll get caught
without a raincoat.
                               END