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You might remember my last article on dating. But if you’re like me, and you only have a vague idea of what you had for breakfast, then keep reading. Because you’ll need a refresher. But if your mind is as sharp as a tack, then you’ll want to skip ahead. Probably just one paragraph though, maybe two—I try really hard not to repeat myself. Although, if you ask John, you’d probably get another story. But that’s a topic for another time…
My adopted sister-in-law Charli is ready to date again, so she called upon John and Jann Franklin, dating consultants to the stars.
“I want you to meet this guy who’s been asking me out for two years, and I’m ready to say yes. But I want you with me, to make sure he’s a good guy.” How did that go? Not like any date I’ve ever been on.
It might have been Charli’s fault—it certainly wasn’t mine. I bear no responsibility in this strange story. Charli insisted Michael had to win John’s approval, or their relationship would never move forward. The guy pulled out all the stops. Honestly, I’m not sure why I was even invited. Maybe I strengthened that “the more the merrier” mantra that so many of us proclaim. I’m dropping that from my toolkit, by the way. In my case, it was code for “well, we can’t leave her at home, by herself, so we’ve got to make her feel included.” At half past midnight on the second night, I would have gladly traded inclusion for Netflix and pajamas. This girl isn’t as footloose and fancy free as she used to be.
Michael definitely put his best foot forward. The first night he took John and Charli out for dinner and karaoke. I was at a writer’s retreat, so I only heard about the fun I’d missed. Monday rolled around and we all had lunch—a relatively tame experience. I ate too much, but who doesn’t on vacation?
Monday evening Michael invited John to go crabbing. “Oh, and Charli and your wife too…if they want to come along, I guess.” Yes, I hadn’t felt so welcome since, well, since my adopted sister-in-law had begun inviting me on her dates.
Charlie’s beau treated us (and I use that term loosely—it was mostly John and Charli he tried to impress) to an authentic Italian restaurant. I ate so much shrimp fettucine Alfredo that my stomach requested an expansion, but my pants refused. I put my head on the table to rest from my decadence, but our host had other plans. It was time to visit Sharky’s and dance to live music.
The last night (thank goodness!) we feasted at Michael’s house. His side business is catering, and he didn’t disappoint. We sampled a charcuterie board, freshly boiled shrimp, grilled red fish with vegetables, and French cookies with cream and fresh fruit. Oh, and John requested another evening of karaoke. Thanks, Honey! I rallied to belt out “Margaritaville”, “Come Sail Away”, and “Sweet Caroline”—it was either sing or crawl under the table for a much needed rest.
John met Michael the next morning at the docks, to purchase fresh shrimp off the boats. This girl stayed in bed, and so did Charli. Michael told John he’s fixing up his boat to go flounder gigging, and John is welcome back any time. What about Charli? I’m not sure—she said she’d been invited for supper the following weekend. Me? Nope, I was definitely a third wheel. A fourth wheel perhaps? I wasn’t offended—I told my husband next time he could leave me in the company of my pajamas and Netflix to pursue his bromance.