Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Close call

My candidate did not win yesterday.  Furthermore, the candidate who prevailed was, in the eyes of my fellow campaigners and me, the least desirable choice of the 3 remaining.

(Think:  George W. Bush of the Southie Democrats. On multiple intellectual levels.   And that's not meant as a compliment.)

I hit up the post-election gathering about 10:15, having had a church meeting to attend first.  I was glad I hadn't been there the whole time:  the mood was bleak.  Most folks had been drinking, hugging and commiserating since 7:30, and the stereo blasted heavy metal power ballads. 

After hugging and commiserating with Mike, I grabbed a Sam and a slice of congealed pepperoni pizza and sat down with a group of ladies.   Conversation had turned to the cuteness factor of someone's pet dog.  Soon, I got into a more involved chat with my immediate neighbor -- a woman my age, who I've known for a couple years but have never really known much about. 

Talk turned to our respective careers. 

She said:  she works in Copley Square. 
I said:  I did the same. 

She said: she works in educational publishing. 
I said:  I once went on several dates with a man in educational publishing who also worked in Copley Square. 

She asked: what his name was.
(Before I could answer)
She asked: if my date's name was (the real name of) The Editor

I hesitated.
(Because it, indeed, was.)
(Man of the loaner scarf.)

I asked:  if he were short, bald and Jewish.
She said: no.  Tall, blond.  Made New Jersey jokes.

I remembered: The Editor moved here from New Jersey.

(But said nothing more.)
(Wanting to take no more chances.)

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