Last week you got my tragic blind date story. Didja like that? Yeah…good story.
Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, and I have a little love story for you. It’s much nicer than the blind-dates-are-hazardous-to-your-health story, I swear. It even comes equipped with a happily ever whatever.
In the spring of 1999, Margaret, a spinster from Illinois, went on a business trip to California. Not much of a hook, I know, but get this… She wasn’t supposed to go to that meeting that year. One of her co-workers was scheduled for the trip, but had to bow out. That’s when fate stepped in.
Margaret’s business card was pulled from a hat, and she was awarded a trip to yet another conference. Oh, yippee skippee. In the fall of 1999, our heroine boarded a plane bound for Washington, D.C. Over six hundred miles away, a dark eyed man from Little Rock, Arkansas took off in the same direction, and…
Their gazes met across a stuffy conference room in rural Virginia…
There may have been adult beverages consumed…
And a game of Pictionary… (Uh, yeah, that’s what the kids call it these days.)
Some attendees claimed they spotted a couple kissing on the roof…
(Wait. What? You thought Pictionary was code for kissing? No, it’s charades with paper. Kissing is kissing. Sheesh. Have I taught you nothing? Read more smutty books!)
And our heroine said, “Oh, shit.”
By the end of the week, Margaret knew she had met THE ONE, but she wasn’t exactly ecstatic about it.
Falling hard and fast for a stranger seven hundred miles away from home was not part of her plan. It was supposed to be a harmless flirtation. Some laughs, a few stolen kisses, a little excitement to break up the monotony of eight hours of seminars each day over the course of five long days.
But, he was so sweet. How could any spinster resist those big, bittersweet chocolate eyes? And the drawl! Not the twangy, annoying kind, but the soft, slow slurring of syllables that was just enough to make a northern girl melt into a puddle of goo….
Margaret knew right away she was in trouble. She also knew that resistance was futile.
On their wedding day, her hairdresser stood her up, but her groom didn’t.
And they lived happily ever after – so long as he continues to provide Route 44 Diet Cokes, crack her up daily, and say sweet things in that slow, southern drawl.
Now it’s your turn to tell me a love story. It can be your love for Nutella or the nut job you married. Either works. Ready? Go!
Oh! And Happy Valentine’s Day! I hope it’s a sweet one!