Mr. Nice Guy

A friend excitedly told me she wanted me to meet this guy who had moved back to the panhandle – he was such a great guy and he was soooooooooooo nice. My smiling face said “Sure” but my brain was saying “Nice. Right. There is no such thing as nice.” She invited me to a weekly accountability group and lo & behold, Mr. Nice Guy was a member of the group. He was always cheerful and seemed to be an integral part of the group. He shook my hand when we were introduced but that was about it. Ya'll he was ca-yuuute (for you non-southerners -- C. U. T. E. is actually two syllables at bare minimum) and I didn’t mind looking at him a bit but beyond that, I hadn’t a thought in my mind. After all, timing was not right according to my time table and I was still pretty fragile.

Fast forward several months - it's a Tuesday evening about 8:30. For some time I had been meeting with two sisters to just pray – it was such a great time and one of the high points of my week. One of the gals had already left and I was just casually visiting with the other when the phone rang. I answered the phone and my friend could tell there was something quite momentous about this phone call. She watched as my eyes widened and I promptly backed up to prop myself against the wall behind me. Instead, I bumped into a shadow box with 4,738 miniatures in it and knocked it kerpow, straight to the floor. My grace astounds even me.

“Michelle, this is Mr. Nice Guy. How are you this evening?”
“Oh, I’m fine! And you?" I think it actually sounded more like mmm,..uhhhh, fffffine.
“I was wondering if you would like to go to Amarillo with me this Saturday evening?”

HOLY CRAP. I was 37 years old and I was going on a date.

I did what any self-respecting girl does in a situation like this. After agreeing and getting the details I hung up the phone, looked at my friend and …………..

screamed.