Life In The Weird Lane

"Hey Man, are you available next weekend? I want to serenade Danielle again."

That is apparently a real sentence said by a real man who lives right here in the United States of America. My co-worker told me that he was asked to be a part of a makeshift barbershop quartette put together by his buddy to serenade his wife. So many thoughts swirled around my head once I stopped laughing so hard I was momentarily blind. First, this is a level of sticky sweet hokeyness I would never wish to be a part of. Overtures made via jumbo tron, people springing from cakes, men stripping to a group of squealing girls, sky writing, and awkward friend serenades all fall somewhere just above drugless root canal on my list of leisure activities. Secondly, I want to meet this man's wife. I can't seem to get a second date, she is pulling down repeat serenades. I will bring my steno book and see what I can't glean from observing her operations. Off the top of my head? I suspect she might be skilled in the powers of hypnosis or do-it-yourself frontal lobotomies.

This story reminded me of the only time in my relationship history that I have been publicly recognized (humiliated) by my significant other. It is now referred to only as "The Poetry Slam". A day that will live in relationship infamy.

It started innocently enough. ( I always say that. Note: Get new Lead in.) We had just moved into our new apartment are were hosting all our local friends to warm the place as you do. A lot of booze, a little BBQ, lots of people crammed into a small space we didn't own, the usual. Then it happened. Most of this next part was told to me by my friends who watched in horror as I drank white wine directly from the jug in the kitchen.

My Ex, who shall remain nameless, let's call him, Narcissus, gathered everyone around for some kind of announcement. Some people later told me they thought he was going to propose. No, no, not a proposal. Instead he proceeded to read a 12 page book of poetry he wrote when he was in High School. Now, not everyone had come inside for the first announcement, but once poetry was promised the husband of my good friend from college ran outside and announced "GUYS! he's going to read poetry, GET IN HERE" With friends like that, who needs enemies? Anyway, clearly the old friends knew it wasn't a proposal. I can't blame them for wanting to witness the inevitable humiliation. No one goes to Nascar to watch left turns all day, they come for the potential fiery crash. This was a guaranteed car crash, an impromptu stop on the Whitney Houston revival tour or Sarah Palin campaign speech. Good Stuff, Cheap.

He recited poems on such subjects as Dutch Babies (a fattening breakfast item apparently), his favorite hometown breakfast locale "OId South", and, my personal favorite, his high school sweetheart. After the one about his high school love, I heard a collective "Awww" come over the crowd. I peaked my head out just enough to shake my head and say "Not me" then returned to my jug. Some one of my sweet girlfriends tried to defend me and asked why on earth he would be compelled to read a poem he had written about another girl at our housewarming. A valid point, and I do appreciate her attempt to come to my defense. Yet, alas, she unwittingly made it worse. His brow furrowed almost audibly and he said "I'll be right back" and shut himself into our bedroom. I wish this night had continued to follow the teen horror movie arch and he had been carried away by an ax murderer after this declaration. No such luck. He emerged ten minutes later with an uninspired ode to me that he read to the group. I was so flustered that I dropped the jug, shattering it and spilling the remaining contents all over the kitchen floor. A silence fell over the place. Cricketeers. A couple people got up to help me slop up the wine. I overheard my friend Sarah soberly mutter "Wow, Jacqui is a really good girlfriend. I never knew." That story still comes up a minimum of twice monthly. Frankly, I wish more people had been there. Hindsight, it's one of the funnier moments of my life.

Sometimes I think maybe I'd like to meet someone "normal". But who am I kidding? Normal isn't my color of wonderful. I love a good story.