Keeping the Right Company
...s enough. I told him to leave. When he realized my seriousness, he instantly became the sweet, loving guy I thought he truly was. But what I saw was a mangy stray dog that would not go away. “I love you, baby. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, I promise,” he pleaded. (Anyone ever hear that before?) Not this time! He would not leave the house. Finding a moment alone, without him hovering over me with those pathetic eyes, was becoming excruciatingly difficult. I vividly remember feeling like I had walked through a spider’s web, and I just could not shake it off. I had to get out of there! I went to the phone and dialed. “Hello?” “Melissa, it’s me. Are you doing anything right now? I need to get out of here.” I briefly explained the situation to my friend. “What do you have in mind?” she asked. We talked it over and decided to meet at Humperdink’s, a sports bar in Richardson. Beer was my typical response to most stresses in that day. Now, this was a Sunday – but not just any Sunday. The Dallas Cowboys were playing the Green Bay Packers in the Wild Card playoff game. So naturally, Humperdink’s was wall-to-wall testosterone, and a few little estrogens mingled around to keep it interesting. I felt slightly obtrusive as I searched intently for an open seat. My eyes canvassed left, then right. I wonder if relief visibly showed on my face when I spotted 2 empty seats at a table occupying 4 die-hard Cowboys fans. I glided gracefully to the table. (Truthfully, I think I looked like a race-walker, and might have even tripped over my feet.) “Are these seats taken?” Not too zealous, I hoped. My main objective was beer, and I did not want any wrong ideas. Flirting was my second favorite hobby, but I was not altogether in the flirting mood. “No. Go ahead,” they invited. “I’m Trudi,” I said, offering my hand to the gentleman on my right. “Kirk,” a couple of his friends sang out. “Like ‘Captain Kirk’.” We shook hands, and I tried to track down a waitress. Relief came when my order was placed and a nice cold beer was in front of me – something to focus on. I casually glanced over my shoulder, searching for Melissa. She seemed to be taking an eternity. Kirk and his friends were playing QB-1, an interactive game played concurrently with the actual football game. The player predicts whether the team will pass or run the ball, and points are scored if the player guesses correctly. I had never played this game and my best efforts at trying to follow along proved futile. “What is that you’re playing?” I asked Kirk. “QB-1, want to try?” Clearly he was flirting. (It could have easily been me flirting.) “I’m not sure. How do you do it?” I decided to take the ...