Finding “Mr. Right”

Although I am married to the world’s best man, and you can’t have him, I am compelled to tell you who are “looking for Mr. Right”, how I found him.

Actually, he found me, which is the point of the whole story.

I had been divorced for years, living from hand to mouth, and had gone through several irresponsible jerks who, thank you baby Jesus, were temporary.

 A couple of them had come in the office where I worked, bearing flowers to hopefully cause me to forgive them for being lazy, stupid, doped up, drunk, or jobless.

 One of them even came in to apologize for stealing my dog and my VCR.

There was a guy who came in a couple of times a week to stock our store room. He was quiet, tiptoeing around, whispering, tall and lanky, and way too nice. I didn’t give him a second look, as his shirts were always wrinkled, and he didn’t have his hands tattooed with “love” on one hand, and “hate” on the other. Most importantly, he didn’t give off the “bad boy” air I was accustomed to falling for.

One day, an older guy who worked with me, called me into his office. He did it over the intercom where everyone could hear and later make fun of me.  He said, in a gruff voice, “Sheila, come into my office. I need to talk to you.”

“Uh, oh!” I thought….”Did I forget to make coffee? Had I been rude to a customer? Was my skirt too short? Was I about to get canned, replaced by some young thing who had boobs above her waist and a butt that you could still see?”

“Sit down.” He said, kindly.… I had crept into his office, my trepidation apparently showing on my face.

“I have seen these men you are messing with. I have a piece of advice, and you better take it!” He said.

He was older than I, so I attempted to show respect. I nodded, and sat down. I was amazed that he paid any attention to me at all, much less my line of sorry ex boyfriends.

“Okay, shoot.” I said. I, of course, planned to turn a deaf ear. After all, he was old enough to start being really old, if you get my drift.

“You are gonna have to QUIT picking men. I just have to tell you, you have BAD TASTE!” He said, slamming the ever present ink pen down on his desk.

“Uh……” I said.

“You DO! You have BAD taste in men. Stop trusting yourself. You need to let them PICK YOU!! Personally, I think the one who picks you will have good taste.”

Now, I took this as both a compliment and an insult. I returned to my desk. I couldn’t decide whether or not to be upset.

As time went on, I did exactly what I predicted, and let his advice go in one ear and out the other.

Then…it started. I worked with a lot of scruffy men, and they all started coming into my office and telling me I should date Tony.

Now, I didn’t even really KNOW Tony. I just saw him from afar, easing around the back, stocking supplies.

He also brought donuts to the men, meaning we girls up front never got a donut. One day, I called Tony to the front and blew him out about this. He took it very well. Next day, I got a separate bag with donuts in it.

I reckon that was step one in his diabolical plan.

One day, I had been going through some hard times, and I got a call from Tony.

He said, “Now, I am not trying to get in your business, but I know you are going through some hard times, and if you need a shoulder, feel free to call me.”

I reckon that was step two in his diabolical plan.

One day, he left a donut on my desk. There was a note on it. It said, “Your home phone number is ____-_______.  Please return this bag with your number on it.”

I reckon that was step three in his diabolical plan.

I did not write my number on the bag. I laughed hysterically and threw it in the trash.

One day, out of the blue, I had an epiphany. I recalled what my older fellow employee had told me. The guys had still been working on me about “Going out with Tony.”

I picked up the phone and dialed Tony’s work number. When he answered, I stated my home number, and hung up. Even I thought I was crazy.

Later, I was told that Tony ran around his office screaming, “Get me a pen, get me a pen, get me a pen, get me a pen!!!” All this time, he had a pen stuck behind his ear, as is his habit, but in a panic, he forgot, bless his heart.

We went out on the following Saturday. He picked me up at work. I watched him out the window, as he slowly drove into the parking lot, slowly walked toward the door, ambling along, humped over, his shirt wrinkled and his shorts too short.

I thought, “Lord, what have I got myself into? He isn’t even wearing a cap with a rifle on it, he doesn’t have a beer his hand, and he has a job. I don’t like him.”

I went with him anyway. He made me laugh. He was polite, but silly. He answered every question I asked. We ate crawfish and danced. We made fun of each other, and danced.  We ran into people we knew, we ate more crawfish, and we danced.

 I stopped noticing the wrinkles in his shirt. I started noticing that people liked him. I noticed he opened doors for me. He escorted me to the bathroom and stood outside the door. We liked the same kind of music. We both liked dogs. Neither one of us could dance very well, but we danced…a lot. We also stole a little kiss on the dance floor every once in a while.

We have been together since that day. He has not changed. He is the same man I later married on a beach in Jamaica. He is the most wonderful of the wonderfuls. He still opens doors for me. He will carry my purse in a store. He always puts me and my needs ahead of his. He has made my life complete.

He supports me in bad times, and laughs with me in good times. He is spontaneous and fun. He never lets me down…..

So, if you find yourself having bad taste in men, change your habit. Don’t wait for someone to tell you to do it.. just do it. That nice man sitting there looking all calm and polite, may be just the man who will make YOU wake up every morning with a prayer on your lips. I do…..every morning I give thanks for the life and love I get from my husband.

I never would have found him on my own. I DID have bad taste. I DID look in the wrong places.

Thanks to a bunch of conniving men, one older and wiser man, and a bunch of motorcycle riding co-workers, with tattoos, guns, doo rags, ugly sunglasses, beer on their breath, long hair and dirty fingernails, I found my love. They cared more about me than I cared about myself! They had way more sense than I did!!!!!! I had misjudged them because they wore tee shirts with two pigs on them that said “Making Bacon!”

I am happy Tony chased me. Of course, he did it in a passive, but sneaky way. He let others do it for him, in a manner of speaking. But that’s okay too……He chased me til I caught him!!!!!