The adage of a wedding being a good place to meet single women is, in my estimation, not existent. I have been to a number of weddings and found the number of women that attend with boyfriends, husbands, or significant others vastly outweigh the number of women who are proverbially overcome with the romantic and emotional innuendos of the marriage ritual. That has never stopped me, however, from trying.
It was in this setting that I along with everyone else at the wedding laid eyes on Whitney, men out of lust, and women out of a jealous dislike. Whitney had a pair of really long legs that protruded from the end of her little black dress (I know, red flag), and a tattoo that was slightly covered by the straps of her black high heels that wrapped around her ankles like a vine of ivy climbing a trellis . She had reddish brown hair, clipped at the top with what I’m guessing was a burette so that it drooped down onto her shoulders at two decisive lengths, and a face that was as cute as it was naughty. I could not take my eyes off of her, which eventually became detrimental to conversations. I glanced intermittently at her all throughout dinner, and then she was gone. I saw out of the corner of my eye Whitney leaving and I grew anxious. But even a hurried race to the door after her would have failed due to lack of space.
She was gone and I didn’t know a thing about her except her ravishing good looks, but I knew someone who did; the bride and groom. After consulting them I decided that Whitney was in a relationship, the man not present, and that the nature of that relationship was susceptible to suggestion. I got one piece of information that I could exploit in another effort to meet Whitney then I let the subject go for the evening. I saw no need to occupy the happy newlyweds with matchmaking.
Whitney worked at a restaurant, and I decided to pay here a visit one day. A lot of thought went into planning when exactly to go. I chose a Saturday afternoon around four o’clock in the afternoon. There would be some people there, but not enough that I would burden her, or that she would be too busy to talk. Little did I know that the ‘family’ restaurant was a popular place for senior citizens and at four o’clock in the afternoon the place was packed!
I found a seat at the counter where Whitney happened to be working and ordered lemonade. As Jerry Seinfeld said “I’m not force feeding myself at four o’clock in the afternoon to save a few bucks on the early bird special.” I grabbed Whitney’s attention when she had a minute to stand and look at the television and asked her if I looked familiar. She answered in the negative. I told her the story of the wedding, how she left before I could introduce myself, and how her beauty captivated my.
“Which is what brings me here today.” I continued. “I was wondering if we could talk again sometime, when you’re not busy working?”
“I’m married.” She replied. Now,I knew what that answer meant, and forgive me for being a bit of a cad… but it did not answer my question.
“So, is that a no?” I asked again, a bit deviously.
Whitney thought for a moment, took a deep breath and then nodded her head one time. “That’s a no… for now.” She was interested, and I found out in post operation discussions with the aforementioned groom that they had broken up before.
“I can live with that.” I said with a sly, little smile. I’m not going to ask a married women for her phone number with romantic implications attached, that I feel is wrong. I did however write my phone number on a piece of paper and slid it across the counter to her where she accepted it. “It’s there if you want it.”
“Ok.” She replied as she picked up the folded piece of paper and opened it up to have a look. I smiled at her, she smiled at me and with one final line we parted.
“I hope to hear from you again Whitney.” But I never did. Let’s hope it’s because she is happily married and living ever after.
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