I Know He Says He’s Working On It…

I know he says he’s working on it, but I can’t wait to for the news to come hot off the press. I have a busy day scheduled and only so much time allotted for playing on the internet.

Therefore, I will dive right in and give you all the Reader’s Digest condensed version of How I Met My Husband, even though I might have blogged about it before. I’m way too lazy to search through and find it. So here goes…

How I Met My Husband… by Pandemonic

It was late one night toward the end of fall. October 29, 1983, to be exact. I was working the late shift at a federal agency.

All of a sudden, a bunch of new recruits came on the workroom floor, perhaps ten or twelve. I gave them the once-over. As I spent most of my time at work, the dating pool was very shallow and drying up by the minute.

A couple of younger guys looked like possible prospects. One was attractive and blond. I try to stay away from blond men (I don’t know why, so don’t ask). He wasn’t very tall, but still, rather good looking. The other was tall, dark and handsome. Roman nose. Nice features. Beautiful dark brown hair. And he was TALL. (Since I am short, I tend to go for tall guys. Go figure.)

A supervisor told the two guys to work with me. HOT DIGGEDITY DOG! The blond guy was aloof. He looked forlorn being up at 11 p.m. at night, and terribly out of place. The tall guy was talking to the short blond dude. That’s what happened in this particular facility. People who started working together tended to band together, and there was no clique jumping.

Of course, I didn’t believe in enforcement of the classes, especially when it came to the dating pool. I was known to clique-jump whenever. So I started talking to Tall, Dark and Handsome. Not just there, but in the break room too. (Horrors! That was really in bad form!)

It took about a month, but I asked Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome (Mr. Demonic) out to dinner at my place. And, as they say, the rest is history.

**Wait a minute. I do think I posted this before… Perhaps I should blog about how I got him to ask me to marry him…

Odd Thoughts That Add Up To Good Stories

Over the weekend, my dear Mr. Demonic and I had our standard date night out at the local seafood grill. We try not to talk about business, but it’s hard since we own three of them and they are the parasites sucking the life out of us.

Both of us are over 50. I’m older than he is by about nine months. He thinks this is hilariously funny and that I’m so much older than he is. Never mind that we graduated from high school the same year. This has caused some tension, and for the past several years, I spend my birthdays in other locations, with people who love me. Well, with people who at least tolerate me. But that’s another story.

So, during dinner, we were discussing the awful economy. We couldn’t sell our house if we wanted to. Ditto for the business, and the buildings where the businesses are located. In one building, there is a 4,000 square foot space upstairs, that in a good economy, we could consider making genuine loft space out of. Right now, it’s rotting like the rest of the state.

Sometime after the grilled scallop appetizer (which was delicious, by the way), a heated discussion ensued about packing it all in and going elsewhere. We’ve had this discussion before. Mr. D, being a man, feels that giving up would be a coward’s way to act. On the other hand, I feel that it might save us from impending doom. Mr. D also has an unexplainable fondness for this state. Neither one of us is from here, and if I had my druthers, I’d be any place but here.

Mr. D then brought to my attention that he is too old to start over.

TOO OLD!?

You’ve got to be shittin’ me, right?

This coming from the man who claims his gray hair is actually blond? Who says I’m getting old?

I tried to tell him that 50 is the new 30, but he wouldn’t have any of it.

The discussion led me to thinking over the weekend. (I know, I’m dangerous when I do that.) What if we were to sell everything and leave for pastures not as burnt up as those here?

Then I came up with a plan which later on, I thought would make a good story… I might work on that if I have more than ten seconds of time to myself.

I like going to cemeteries, so I could hunt up someone who is 15 years younger than me. (I think I could pass for late 30s. I’d be pushing it trying for anything younger.) Then, I would go and establish a whole new identity using the dead person’s information.

This would instantly make me a lot younger on paper. If a prospective employer asked my age, I could provide documentation showing that I am indeed 39.

I’m thinking the name of the story would be “Perpetually 39.” I think this scenario could lead to hi-jinks untold. I’m not sure I could pull off being fifteen years younger, but I could certainly give it the old college try.

Of course, doing this in real life would make me a law breaker at the least and a felon at the most, so I will not consider it as a viable option. I want to get out of this state, not be stuck in prison in it.