I had convinced myself that you didn’t exist. So much so that the idea of you…the posibility of you hardly ever enter my mind anymore. For quite some time, I had perfected the art of ignoring the warning signs of my less-than-satisfying relationship. I could learn to be content with what I had. Afterall, I was comfortable there. I was known. Expectations were clear. Nevermind what settling could cost me in the long run.
He said he wanted to introduce us. I was hesitant because part of me didn’t want to admit that what I had was less than what I could have. But since I trusted him, I relented.
I agreed to meet you on Saturday morning. He was late, so I sat with you, akward at first. I spent more time glancing around the room and down at my book than really looking at you. I felt conspicuously aware that I was surely accupying someone else’s chair. I took a deep breath, and told myself that I was as good as anyone to be sitting there. Soon, he joined us and began telling me all about you – the good and the bad. I felt like I was the third party in a job interview. I reminded myself that he knew you, and thought enough of me to want good things for me. As the morning played on, I found myself more and more at home with you. By the end of our time together, I was taken. It wasn’t his opinion of you that eventually won me over. It was the warmth and subtle sweetness in what you offered that left you lingering in my mind all weekend. I guess at the end of the day, it isn’t the “list” that matters, but how you made me feel.
I wish you weren’t so far away. I wish we could be together today. I’m glad I will see you again tomorrow.
doule.com 
my comments already got to your through email…but for everyone else, this post will be discussed for eons to come…. cheryl at her vintage best.
ahhh. i’ve never thought of myself as “vintage.” sweet.
You are one of the coolest people I know so if you were in somebody else’s seat it was a lucky thing for him.
I think of you as more ‘estate’ than ‘vintage’. It’s classier.
i don’t think it’s flattering to be called “estate.” can i get some help on this ladies? not that i don’t get what you were going for…
indeed. not flattering. being called a large tract of land mostly used for farming purposes is not flattering or attractive. but jared, i do appreciate the sentiment also.
she has HUGE tracks of land….
i don’t think of estate as large tracts of land. I think of it as something you’re left after your 90 year-old sugar daddy dies – hopefully loads of cash. otherwise, having a 90 year-old sugar daddy is just gross.
and that’s classy? You think I’m all Anna Nicole
which is classier? dirt or sugar daddies? and who wants to be compared to either? I liked vintage. makes me think versace.
after my “huge tracks of land” quote, i don’t know if I honestly qualify as classy anymore.
scandalous!
nope, you lost that classiness factor, although i still consider you vintage.
and as an FYI, since i was sworn to secrecy, i didn’t spill to John H. yesterday when he was asking me about your mystery date…i did, however, chuckle repeatedly.
i girl’s gotta maintain her privacy. i mean, look what happened to Diana!
i’m sorry, but i don’t think you can be compared to both anna nicole and diana, princess of wales, in one post. the universe might just explode from the dichotomy of the two being placed in close proximity.
both blonde. both famous and wealthy. both known for being in marriages of convenience along with multiple failed/public romances. both surrounded by tragedy. wait. how i am being compared to these two again?
cause you’re sexy like that.
Vintage is something you buy for $1.50 at a good will store. Estate is something you broke the bank for at an expensive antique store, not that you’re old, or high maintenance/expensive. Think classy/valuable.
Princess Di and Anna Nicole are about equal in my mind. The only difference was a title. Replace the castles, champagne and caviar with double wides, Bud Lite and Cheez Whiz and they are interchangeable.
So an estate is fertile, a place to find food and nourishment, a place a man would want to settle down, something to be treasured for generations, etc. It’s a unique metephor but…
Oh, and I never asked Sam to reveal your business although I did mention it and was intreagued.
My dad used to have this gigantic station wagon with plastic wood on the side of it and in scripty chrome lettering across the back it said, “Estate.”
You can’t get classier than that.
Period.
we had one of those too. we used to put matresses in the back and travel to MD to visit the G’rents. You could never get away with that now. poor kids and those darned safetly standards. we turned out fine.