Last night I was on the phone with my mother. I called just to tell her one thing, so I made Terry pause American Idol for just a second. Twenty minutes later, Terry is happily reading TexAgs, while I’m in a debate with my mom. Jennifer Lopez is frozen on the screen. Louis is confused.
Our conversation was about nothing too dramatic, Pam was just shutting down my effort to purposefully orchestrate the greatest love story ever.
You see, most of my friends are single. I feel at times like I’m the only person married at my age, and on top of that – absolutely none of my single friends are even in long-term relationships. Terry and I have pretty much exhausted both circles of friends looking for matches, so now that everyone knows each other, we are just one big happy group of single people who know Molly and Terry. I see my friends going out on date after date, some good and some bad. In an effort to help, I find I’m constantly looking for dates for them too. To the point of embarrassingly checking for wedding rings, when I myself have one. I always get a confused but intrigued glance when they pick up on what I’m doing. ew. At least it helps me weed out the bad ones.
Moving on. I recently have expanded our little group of friends by two. One boy and one girl. At last! Two who haven’t yet met! At the suggestion of another friend, I decided to host a Superbowl watching party to get these two love birds off to happily ever after. The only problem is, I wanted to keep the party segregated so as not to ruin their chances of those specific two falling for each other.
What? It’s not like the fact I’m a control freak is news to you people. I’m severely type A and like to make things happen. You can stop shaking your head at me now.
Pam of course jumped in when she saw my plan unfold. She being a veteran of such ridiculous match making experiments, was very against the idea. She told me I had to invite everyone I normally would invite, and that I can’t predict who will be interested in who. She instructed to keep my mouth shut and just go on about the party like it was a normal everyday Superbowl party. When I gave a weak rebuttal, she closed with “Don’t get your panties in wad. Just throw a party”.
To which I said, “You know that will be the subject of my post tomorrow”.
That’ll teach her. 🙂
Despite my mom’s honey badger approach to life, she is right. I can’t control who likes who more than I can control Louis from eating every blanket and sock in the house. This love game tactic only worked in middle school and high school because it was all just a game of strategic succession to popularity. Now that the game has changed, I’m just going to have to sit back and watch what happens. And get my grandmother’s dining room table (that I recently acquired) refinished stat. I can at least control the cuteness of my home.