happily ever after

Must Be Love by Valerie Nusbaum “Whatever you do, don’t tell Randy.” My mother has uttered that phrase to me many times over the years, but her most recent exclamation came a few weeks ago. Forgive me, but I need to give you some backstory for this tale to make sense. Back in the summer, Mom and I were having lunch at a Roy Roger’s Restaurant with a few of Mom’s friends. I’m the designated driver, and also the interpreter, since most of them are wearing hearing aids and the rest can’t hear very well. But I digress… I had gotten up to get something for someone when I noticed a man staring at me and grinning. I assumed that I must have known him, so I smiled back and mouthed, “Hello.”  The thought passed through my mind that he was probably a guy named Jeff with whom I had attended high school. Someone tugged on my sleeve and asked, “What did she say?” So I turned back to the ladies and promptly forgot all about the man. A few months later, Mom and I were lunching at McDonald’s. She was at the counter waiting for her French fries. Mom always orders unsalted fries, so they will be fresh and hot. I turned around and saw the same man standing ten feet away. He was grinning at me again. I thought, “That surely is Jeff something-or-other, because he clearly knows me from somewhere.”  I smiled back, and he started talking to me. He mentioned Mom, and told me about the route he travels for work. I nearly referred to him as Jeff, but then I noticed the name on his uniform shirt, and it wasn’t “Jeff.” Oops. I wracked my brain trying to figure out where our paths had crossed. I discussed the man’s possible identities with Mom, but she didn’t know him either. As we were talking, he drove his truck up to the front window of McDonald’s and started waving and pointing. I realized what he’d been pointing at when I walked out to my car after lunch. The man had stuck his business card in my car door and had written a note on the back for me to call him sometime. He’d listed all his phone numbers. Had he thought that I’d been flirting with him? I was only speaking to someone I thought was a former classmate. I was mortified and a little unsettled. How did he even know what I was driving?  Was he stalking me? Should a woman not even smile at a man anymore? Hence, Mom’s warning for me not to tell Randy. Now, I’m not in the habit of keeping things from my husband, and since this particular incident had left me a bit rattled, I told Randy about it that evening. I half expected him to display a little anger or even a smidgen of jealousy, but that’s not in Randy’s makeup. He looked at the business card and said, “You should have told him that we already buy our propane from his company.  Clearly he was trying to drum up business.” I didn’t know whether to laugh, be insulted, or smack Randy in the head like Cher did to Nicholas Cage in Moonstruck, and yell, “Snap out of it!”  Did my hubby really think that no one else could want me? I took the business card out of Randy’s hand, turned it over and handed it back to him. “Gosh that guy is persistent,” was his response. Then the light bulb turned on. “Wait a minute. Was he trying to pick you up? Were you wearing your wedding ring?” “Of course I was wearing my ring. I always wear it in public, except when I forget or when I’m doing dirty work. This was not my fault. I did nothing wrong.” Randy thought about it for a bit longer, and then suggested that he call the guy’s company and report him for using his business card as a way to meet ladies. I told him to forget about it, and promised that if I ever see the man again, I’ll keep moving. I did see him once more—again at McDonald’s. I pretended that I didn’t see him in the parking lot, but he pulled his truck up to the window and waved again. I barely responded. I hate being rude, but he clearly got the wrong idea when I was friendly. I must confess, it’s been a long time since I’ve noticed a man noticing me. The ninety-year-old husbands of Mom’s friends don’t count, even if one of them did refer to me recently as “that sweet young thing.”  I was a tiny bit flattered by the gas man’s attention. I was also a bit scared that he might be a serial killer. I watch entirely too much television. When I mentioned to Randy that I notice when other women appear to find him attractive, his response was, “If any other woman does think that of me, it’s only because she looks at you, and thinks ‘Wow!  If that guy can get a woman like that, he must be really special’.”  How could I argue with that? Yes, I know he’s full of it. Having a husband who doesn’t get jealous isn’t the worst thing in the world. I know he loves me. I love him, too. You can tell because he’s still breathing. Happy Valentine’s Day!