I lost my phone number. Can I have yours?

So you’re sitting in your local bookstore, having a lovely, solitary evening of books and hot cocoa. A tall, youngish, good-looking man passes your cozy armchair, and you feel him walk behind you more than see it. You try to look around discreetly, hoping to catch a better glimpse, only to meet his eyes. Just for a second, though, because suddenly your hot cocoa needs a lot of attention. You know, to keep it from getting lonely while you make eyes at the handsome stranger. Which you’re no longer doing, by the way. Because the cocoa is lonely.


Tipped off by the warmth shivering its way up your spine, however, you realize he’s come back in your direction. For a second, your heart heads right up into your throat. Will he really…? No, no. False alarm. Just reaching for a book. One that happens to be right. next. to. you.

He fingers the book for a moment, hesitates, glances down at you with those devastating eyes. Clears his throat. Looks back at the book. Come on, come on already! Is he going to speak or not?

He opens his mouth. He really is going to talk. Your mind races, preparing for every conceivable comment he might make and coming up with witty, sparkling answer that will immediately captivate and hold him. What is he going to say…?!

…Well, what does he say at that point? My daydreams as a teenager always stuttered for a moment at this juncture. I didn’t know any particularly suave men (heck, I didn’t know any men, besides teachers and relatives; just lots of boys). My dad and my brothers certainly wouldn’t use their best lines on me. So what did that leave me with?

Pick-up lines. You know, the kind people joke about: “Hey, heaven sure must miss you, you’re such an angel!” “Sorry, had to stare. The stars are in your eyes.” “I’m lost. Can I follow you home?”

…Okay, I was able to provide a few slightly better than these. Honestly, though, not by much.

The result of these endless, pathetically romantic daydreams is quite amusing. I’m 25 years old, married, have two children, and … I love pick-up lines. And I don’t mean just as an amusing diversion (hey, let’s see how many bad pick-up lines we can get my younger brother to use!). I actually blush and get all fluttery inside when Dear Boy uses one on me.

Example: The other night Dear Boy and I had an exchange like this–
Dear Boy: “Wow, are you out of your mind?”
Me: …
Dear Boy: …? *Uncertain smile*
Me: …Um… no… I don’t think so. Why?
Dear Boy: *Confident grin* Because you’ve been wandering around my mind all day.
Me: *Blush*
Dear Boy: *Wink*
Leaving me no longer able to make eye contact because I was completely flustered, flattered, and still blushing. Funny thing is, for the longest time, Dear Boy refused to say these things because he thought I was kidding and all pick-up lines are lame.

However, he’s finally learned the truth: His wife is a pathetic, sappy, melting-for-a-bad-line homeless romantic. One can only hope that he never uses his awesome power for evil. He’s already talked me into eating whole-grain bread and actually changing the oil in the car every 3,000 miles. Next thing you know, he’ll use one of his pickup lines and I’ll be going to bed at a sensible time.

Wonders will never cease, and neither will this marriage. Thank goodness.


About Carolynn the Dyer

If I've learned one thing by having three children in four years, it's that babies are not, in fact, the best birth control. ... Okay, just kidding. I've really learned that laughter is the only way to survive the wilds of parenthood, and life in general. Also, that it is indeed possible to do dishes, parent, and carry on a conversation at the same time. If that sounds like fun, or just impossible, then come join me on my blog--and join me in the jungle.
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