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.
(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.)