Valentine’s Day was on Saturday that year, so a women’s group in the area decided to have a social for married couples. They would have three, one hour sessions in the morning with speakers sharing how men and women differ. Afterward, there would be a luncheon where we could all sit around and visit.
My wife, Donna, showed me the flier. “Would you like to go?” she asked.
“I have an idea,” I said, after I finished reading it. “Why don’t they have them speak about how men and women are the same. That would only take about ten minutes, and that would leave a lot more time for the luncheon.”
“Very funny,” she replied.
While we were still talking about whether we would be going, the phone rang. When Donna answered it, the person on the other end asked her if she would play the piano for the social. That clinched it for us to attend.
As I checked my schedule, I found I had some other commitments early Saturday morning. Even though I would be able to be there for most of it, I would have to be late.
“When you get there, you will come up and sit by me on the stand won’t you?” Donna asked. “After all, it is Valentine’s Day.”
“If I get there late, I don’t want to make a big commotion,” I answered. “I think I will just slip in the back, and then join you between sessions.”
She looked at me with big puppy dog eyes. “But that won’t be very romantic.”
“But, Honey, you know how much I hate people staring at me,” I said. “And if I have to go clear up on the stand…”
She stopped me. “Let’s do this. I will have someone save a couple of seats on the front row, and I will come down off of the stand and join you.” I thought about it a minute and felt that was a fair compromise.
Saturday came, and things didn’t go as planned. I was even later than I expected. When I messaged Donna to say I was on my way, she texted back that she had to play for some extra musical numbers and couldn’t join me immediately. “But I talked a lady on the first row into saving us a couple of seats,” she said.
“How will I know which seats are ours?” I asked.
“That’s easy,” she replied. “The room is packed. There are only two front row seats left.”
“How will the lady know it’s me?” I asked.
“I described you to her, so it will be fine,” Donna’s text said.
When I arrived, I looked through the door, and, indeed, found a packed room. I stood in the back and could only see two seats right on the front row. I made my way up there, trying not to draw attention to myself. When I sat down, the lady leaned over and whispered to me. “I’m sorry, but these seats are reserved for someone else.”
Embarrassed, I looked for other seats at the front, but couldn’t see any. So, with everyone staring at me, I made my way to the back again. Between sessions, Donna found me. She led me up to the same seats I had left. She introduced me to the lady that had told me the seats were reserved, then Donna went to take her place at the piano. The lady whispered an apology.
When the meetings ended, Donna and I were finally able to talk. “By the way,” I asked, “how did you describe me to the lady that was saving the seats?”
“Oh, I just told her you were super, amazingly handsome,” Donna said.
“That was the problem then,” I told her.
“What was the problem?” Donna asked.
“She told me she didn’t recognize me from your description.”
(Daris Howard, award-winning, syndicated columnist, playwright, and author, can be contacted at da***@da*********.com; or visit his website )
