Work related woes, the paddleboat kiss and Shayla's shameless swingdance proposal

 

Shayla and I had a little something going on. It wasn’t much, I thought: a wink once in a while, a conversation that lasted a little longer than a neighborly hello. I'd never given it much thought because she was extra nice to everyone, and I was nothing special. Additionally, I'd just missed another day of work and had failed to call in sick, so I was certain that I was going to get fired.

“How late is too late to call in, do you think?” I asked Jeff. (Jeff Daniels, the actor, was now pumping gas, but he always had a pretty good word of advice for anyone who asked.)

He looked at his watch. “It’s 2:30 p.m. I think, if you haven’t called in yet, you’re cooked.”

I had been walking around with a sense of dread all morning, and his words did nothing to alleviate this. I began to imagine the radical shift in my identity that would occur upon firing. I would be a pariah, and I certainly wouldn’t be getting asked out by any pretty ladies like Shayla.

As I walked past the lake, I saw John Travolta and Greg Kinnear in a paddle boat. This paddle boat was constructed in such a way that both men faced opposite directions, so they were only capable of traveling in a circle. John became frustrated with this arrangement and pushed Greg over backwards. After Greg righted himself, John Travolta looked him in the eye and gave him a full kiss on the lips. Mr. Kinnear appeared startled, though not entirely displeased.

I turned away and walked down a dusty street where some of the local gals were sitting on a bench awaiting partners for a swing dance. I saw Shayla Sullivan, a hometown hero and beauty queen, sitting among them chatting. As I walked by, I accidentally kicked her water bottle and bent down to pick it up. In the process of handing it to her, I did a little stutter step, almost falling over into her lap. I righted myself by grabbing her hand, which she interpreted as an invitation to dance.

“No, no, no!” I protested. “ I didn’t… I mean I do… But I’m no good at this.”

Dammit! Why hadn’t I kept up my practice of that little swing dance formula --  “one, two, three AND...” --  that I had tried to learn to ingratiate myself to my wife and recently tried to pick up in hopes of swaying the affections of my good friend E_____?  Shayla would find out soon enough that I was a fraud and could not do this dance well enough to impress anyone.

She also did not know about the impending firing, or at least she pretended not to, as she smiled up at me from the bench. She was instantly on her feet, and there we were, dancing in the street. Or should I say, she was dancing in the street, and I was doing my best not to dance on her feet to the rhythm of one, two, three AND… I still can’t remember how it goes.

“Do you wanna come up to my room?” she asked breathlessly, after just a moment of this awkward dance.

Of course I did, but I was still thinking about my impending firing and how it was going to affect everything. I felt disingenuous for accepting her proposal. I tried to make some kind of a confession as she led me up the stairs past her mother’s scrutinizing glare.

On our way down the hall, I was greeted by the family dog, who was a lot friendlier than Mom, and we went into her room and shut the door. Shayla and I went in, I mean. The dog remained at his post in the hallway.

“I’m gonna win you,” she said determinedly, and she began to strip.

“But you’ve already won me over,” I said, recalling the words of an Alanis Morrisette song as I unzipped my hoodie and flung my beanie on the couch.

I was feasting my eyes upon her in such a fashion as one does at these times, drinking in the moment that I feared would be all too short. I was not wrong, and per standard operating procedure, I awakened into this lonely bedroom with my usual feelings of disappointment and anxiety.