From: [email protected]
Subject: How we met, from Nurse Jones
Date: 10 Dec 91 17:34
From Nurse Jones,
Somebody asked a few weeks ago for people to post on how they met
their SO's. Here goes.
As you might expect, knowing what you do about me, we met because I
was having my period and I made a complete ass out of myself.
We were both on our way out of the computer center and he held the
door open for me. I was new to the big city and feeling very modern
and urban, and I was going through my Early Feniminiminminist Phase
(is spelling contagious?) which meant it was politically correct and
perfectly acceptable to splash resentment on any male within range and
if he didn't like it that was proof that he deserved it.
So he holds the door open for me and I breeze by without thanking him
and devastate him with my wit: "You don't have to open the door for me
just because I'm a lady." God, I was so clever and witty.
And he says, "I didn't."
I wasn't really expecting an answer, so I look back at him from my
Moral High Ground to see if I was going to be favored with a male
chauvinist explanation, and he says, "I opened it for you because I'm
a gentleman."
And suddenly I feel about this big. And I'm mad at him for being a
male chauvinist piglet and at myself for being a feminist. And the
bastard smiles this little smile of encouragement at me and says,
"Take your time, you'll think of something." And yes, I _was_ trying
to think of a comeback, and I had the feeling he really hoped I would,
but I couldn't and then I was mad because I realized he could see the
wheels turning in my mind and not coming up with any witty repartee,
so I turn majestically on my heel and start to march out onto the
front steps when I discover the strap of my purse is caught on the
push-bar of the outer doors and I nearly dislocate my shoulder. I'm
thinking maybe I have whiplash and trying to pretend: "I meant that, I
meant that."
I wanted to hide. I would have crawled into a nearby heap of snow but
there were yellow holes in it.
"Coffee?"
"What?" I quipped.
"Coffee. Can I buy you a cup."
My mouth was open.
"Of coffee," he explained.
"Oh." My rapier wit finally comes to the rescue. I look around like
maybe I was expecting my limo to pull up.
"Now, if you like," he says.
"Uh," I say, my brain shifting into high gear. "Okay."
Romantic, huh? My Early Feminist Faze ended shortly thereafter. My
grandmother helped me through it, bless her vicious little soul. She
just thought I was trying to act like a man. She hated men. She hated
women, too. I think she liked me, but if there were a third sex to
choose from, I probably never would have been born. Certainly, she had
very little time for my feminist ideas.
She put me in my box once by asking me "Why is it that when young
women act like men, they never act like gentlemen?" I never stayed in
my box very long. I told her that it was because when women act like
gentlemen, you don't notice it: they seem to be acting like women. She
laughed at that. I got along pretty well with her, all things
considered. I guess grandparents and grandchildren always get along
well. They have a common enemy.
She died at 81 in an ultralight accident. Freak winds or something, we
never knew. She was a little difficult for hoosiers to understand, my
grandmother. Now, whenever I do anything that doesn't fit the
midwestern mold, my mother says "You're worse than your grandmother."
But Gran got me thinking about some of my idiotic behaviour. It sounds
like I'm a bit behind the times, I know, taking advice from a
grandmother. She was more liberal than my parents, though. Well, YOU
try growing up in Indiana. Where an independant woman is one that
sells real estate part-time or has a tupperware franchise.
Of course NOW I'm completely mature and grown up.
I NEVER make an ass of myself any more.
I'm not a clutz,
and my mouth never EVER gets me into trouble.
Another long post from
Nurse Jones,
who may have a small vocabulary
but the turnover is terriffic.
On to the next posting
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