As you may have guessed from the recent silence in these parts, I'm suffering from severe summer slump. What could I have to say that wouldn't make you all yawn hugely, turn your computers off and take to your beds? Nothing, nada, zilch and so----silencio!
But an old friend with whom I e-mail back and forth, often just one-liners, recently inquired in passing "So how did you and J [the OC] meet?" And since it wasn't a blog post, and I didn't feel I had to edit and tweak and polish and rewrite until I had a headache, I shot an answer right back at her, and she was so highly amused and chuckling still today, that I thought "Here's a lazy-man's blog post, ready made, no headache required!" Not that blogging gives me a headache. Quite the opposite. But as I mentioned, summer slump and all that, steaming heat that saps one's energy, thundershowers every day--not conducive to scintillating posts.
"J and I met at Kennedy Airport where we were both working for the summer. He was at Lufthansa, and I was at Aer Lingus. His sister, O, was at Aer Lingus too, and she and I became friends. Her father would pick her up after work and sometimes drop me off at my digs. He was always blathering on about his brilliant son [yawn!] and eventually asked me [when J returned from AFROTC summer camp] if I'd mind if he came to one of our after work parties with me, to get him back in circulation. J had then, and still has, hermit tendencies, so his father deemed it necessary to meddle in his social life. The last flight for Ireland didn't leave until 9 or 10 at night, so the parties always started late. I agreed. J. of course, didn't know that he was being set up. When his father told him, he just blew it off, figuring the old man had badgered me enough that I just said "yes" for a peaceful life. Meanwhile, the other summer hires [all college students like ourselves] were disappearing from Irish Airlines like rats from a sinking ship. The guy driving the last car asked if I needed a lift to the party. J had been supposed to pick me up, according to his pater. I asked the guy to hang on [if he'd left, I'd have been stranded---trusting Irish lass that I was---with no way of getting home to my digs, let alone get to the party!] Hold on a sec!" I said and called J's house. He was sitting, unconcerned, in his boxers shorts, [I was furnished with these details many moons later!] watching a game on TV. I told him I'd been given to understand that he was going to pick me up, but [on my high horse] if he didn't want to, I'd understand, but would rather not be stranded, in the dark, at the deserted airport for the night.
" I'll be there in ten minutes!" And he hung up.
He was wearing AF issue eyeglasses [AKA birth control glasses] and snot-green trousers when he squealed up to the curb..........But I had never before seen such beautiful brown eyes. The rest, as they say, is history!
Years later, I learned that his father thought I'd be an amusing dalliance, a young innocent for his son to practice on [his father having been, in his day, quite the ladies' man himself.] The nerve! He was very annoyed when his brilliant son did not succeed in deflowering me [the nuns had done their job well] and was, as a result, so enamored [not quite the word I used in the e-mail to my friend, but this is a family friendly blog and I'd like to keep it that way] that he wanted to marry me! The old man fought us tooth and nail , saying we were too young to be talking of getting married, which only made J all the more determined. So, to this day, I don't know whether he married me to spite his father or because he was blinded by lust....
While I'm in reminiscing mood I should add that, in the middle of winter, when J was back at university in the frozen north, and I was back at college in Dublin, his father got on a plane at JFK, landed at Shannon, found his way to my parents' doorstep, rat-a-tat-tatted and brought them to the door, puzzled as to who might be visiting when the rest of the civilized world was getting ready for bed. They found a tall, aristocratic-looking man standing on their doorstep in the dark. He introduced himself in his broken English, and after they'd picked their chins up off the hallway floor, they invited him in. He had come to check on my pedigree. To ascertain if I was worthy.
Whether or not I was is a story for another day!
You really should know better than to ask such leading questions!"
So while we're on the subject---I'm sure mine isn't the only entertaining story of "How we met." Let's hear 'em!
Note: The Mamas and The Papas hit song "Dream A Little Dream Of Me" was the soundtrack to that summer, hence the seemingly irrelevant title!
