Sip and See

One of the strangest dates I ever had was not really a date, but it was more like a "sip and see." That's a southern term for a baby shower held when the baby is a month or two old. Friends and relatives come over with gifts and to see the baby. I understand those things are getting very popular now.

The whole point is folks get to see the baby, on display, and I bet there's minimal manhandling of the child.

I could be utterly wrong, of course. I was raised by a dedicated germophobe. I well remember being 10 years old and begging to be allowed to hold my cousin's baby, Lana. Mother made me put on a clean shirt, then push my sleeves up to my armpits, then wash my hands and arms with scalding hot water, scrubbing furiously like a surgeon. Then I had to sit down, and the baby was placed in my lap. I was terrified to touch her. So I always think touching a baby too much without sterilizing yourself first is courting disaster.

But I digress. Which happens a lot.

My "sip and see" experience involved sips of beer and I was the baby.

Anyway, a friend of mine at work, Karen, who was in her 30's kept blathering on and on to me about this adorable cute guy that was a friend of her husband's. She would go on and on about how we were perfect for each other.

"He's in school and you're in school. He's REAL smart," she said, in her very twangy East Tennessee accent. [I was living in Knoxville then.]

Finally, since I couldn't get her to hush, I agreed to go over to her apartment on a Sunday afternoon and meet said dreamboat, whose name was Kyle, I think.

It was a hot summer day, so I wore a little cotten sundress, and put on my makeup carefully. I took some care, just in case I was wrong and the guy was actually a catch. I was in a thin phase, so I was fairly cute myself.

I got over to the apartment and Karen let me in very quietly.

"Eddie and him is in the den watchin' the races. We cain't go in there until the commercial," she whispered.

I peeked in the den and saw her husband Eddie, and just the profile of the dreamboat, both men in Lazy Boy loungers, beers in hand.

Karen and I were reduced to whispering in her spotlessly clean kitchen. I've known people who were cleaning fanatics but not many. Karen was smoking, tipping the askes in a Tab can and blowing the smoke out the window. Otherwise that kitchen was like an operating room, except for the almond colored appliances.

Finally, the commercial came on. I went in the den. Neither man got up or offered to let me sit down, and there were only the two chairs. They said Hi and went back to watching the fascinating TV commercials.

Dreamboat was sorta cute, but he had a little beer belly. His manners was awful. He basically ignored me.  Karen said "Hey Kyle, Dee here's in school, just like you."

Kyle finally looked at me. I decided to jump in and test the water. "I'm in grad school at UT. What are you studying?"

"I'm in school to become a certified technician for heat and air," he said laconically.

OK. Well, those guys probably make a decent living, I thought. We could have us a nice doublewide, eventually.

"You like racing?" Kyle asked.

I allowed as how I'd never watched auto racing. Some remark was made about a driver named "Elliott" and I said the only familiarity I had with that name was TS Eliot, the poet. I just wanted to see his reaction.

He grunted.Then he grinned.  "Never heard of him." Then he turned his attention back to the TV.

The commercials ended and we womenfolk had to retreat to the kitchen. I figured out some way to tell Karen I just didn't think Kyle was interested in me, and I didn't think it was meant to be.

She was terribly disappointed.

I was not.

I left there thinking, someday this will be quite a story.

Comments

[Dee Thompson]

I think we're all related through an immensely complex web of families that have been in GA, SC, and TN for over 100 years. My Grogan cousin was by marriage only and that marriage is over now, so we're not related any more, although I am still in touch with a Grogan who's a buddy regardless of divorce... LOL

[FranAtlanta]

Just a note to tell you that Bill Elliott is a Grogan - yes, those Grogans. He is a direct descendant of my 3rd g-grandmother, Mourning Grogan. This is through my mom's mom, but - as I remember - you also have some Grogan cousins. I wonder sometimes how many times over and how many ways we descendants of early North Georgia folks are kin.

[Jill/Twipply Skwood]

Glad it didn't work out! For just the reason Amy says above! Anyone who makes you wait for a commercial is already not worth dating in my book. ;-) Too bad I actually didn't learn that BEFORE my first marriage, but...whatever. :-)

[Amy]

UGH. Your wife life would have been reduced to sitting quietly in the kitchen waiting for the next commercial at which time you were allowed in the Man's Lair to provide Beer and Snacks.

I'd rather just watch Mad Men and be glad that's not me in that girdle/secretarial chair!