And She's Single Fellas!
Chup and I took out my best friend Wendy to dinner for a late birthday celebration this evening. We wanted to commemorate the fact that she has arrived at thirty. I remember when I first turned thirty. . . I was so unlearned in my ways. What a difference four months makes.
Now don't let this shock you but I wasn't always this intelligent, which is why the great Lord sent Wendy into my life early (four-years-old). Where I lacked logic, common sense and, shall I say kindness, Wendy had plenty. She was supportive in my ill-made spontaneous decisions and first to congratulate me on my successes. Truthfully, it's like that movie "Bandits", together we make up the perfect woman. Truthfully again, there is not a man alive who wouldn't pay good money to run their fingers through her hair. I have done it and I didn't have to pay.
After my mission Wendy and I decided to take our act on the road and rented out my grandfather's place off of the Riverside Golf Course. We had a direct goal of sharing many nights with handsome fellows of the marrying type. But three things were certain: we watched a lot of VH 1 countdowns, Wendy dated every ski bum ever birthed and I was wooed by a stalker named Dante.
A stalker named Dante.
How smart is me?
One very, very dark night I came home late from a miserable date with Dante. He wasn't happy with my decision to "date others" even though I couldn't deny that his lips were undeniable. Previous to this evening, some sketchy experiences had occurred involving Dante. For instance, the time I was at the computer lab and he sent me an e-mail detailing what I was wearing, my posture and the smirk on my face while I sat at the computer. I looked up and down that lab for Dante's distinct face, but he was nowhere to be found.
At two a.m. on this very, very dark night the phone rang. I picked it up. Dante's voice was very low and serious.
"I am on your back porch." He stated with a hint of anger.
Slowly I walked down the hall into Wendy's room. She was asleep. I was so scared that I nearly lost bladder control as I tried to wake her up.
"Is it him?" She asked sleepy-toned.
"He is on the back porch." I whispered almost without breath.
The phone rang again.
"I am at your window." Dante sounded more angry.
"He is at the window." I was overcome with so much fear that my body and soul didn't seem connected.
Then the window in Wendy's room started to shake. Bang! Bang! Bang! Dante was trying to bust through the glass.
Wendy stayed calm.
"Don't move." She ordered.
The phone started ringing again. When I went to answer Wendy instructed me to let it ring.
"He just wants attention."
It rang and rang and rang. Outside her window we could hear frantic footsteps.
Then suddenly it was quiet in our little house. I climbed in bed with Wendy and trembled for a good couple hours before I could calm down.
You might wonder why I didn't call the police. And that is a good question. I guess when you've known someone all your life and they've always protected, supported and nurtured you, you feel like they are the police. Your police. Your body guard, cheerleader and life coach. No need to call anyone else.
Wendy, as always, got me through one of the scariest experiences of my life. And third truthfully, even though I alluded before to being all wise now that I am thirty, I'm nowhere near done making stupido mistakes. I still need Wendy around.
And probably always will.
Happy Birthday Wendal.