One of These Things is Not Like the Others. . .

Writers' Workshop Wednesday with Kat:

Option of Choice:  #1-- Complete the sentence: "I would walk a mile for_____", then continue to write about it.

Have you ever been to Dillon Montana?  I haven’t.  But I have to say I would walk a mile to have been there this morning.  But to fully appreciate the reason why let me give you a little background.

For those of you who don’t know my husband, or the story of how we met, let me give the brief version.  I grew up on a farm with five brothers, two sisters, a field of cows, various stray cats and dogs and the odd chicken or two.  But I had big plans to be a city girl, or at least classy and refined (Mom, if you are reading this, you can stop laughing now).  Which is probably what drew me to Rob when I met him in college.  He was as close to a refined city boy as they came from around those parts.  

He grew up in a subdivision, was very logical and science oriented, wore khakis and blue shirts, and he drove a brand-new-no-food-allowed Honda accord--at age 23.  He was (and always has been) clean shaven (in part because he couldn’t grow a beard to save his life), his sport of choice was tennis, he could really make a saxophone wail, and he used big words like spurious and altruistic.  

I was intrigued.  I flirted.  I chatted.  I dithered after school to bump into him.  I finally broke down and informed him he should ask me out.

He did.

I must have come off more refined and classy than I thought, because when Rob came by to pick me up at my parent’s house. . .let’s just say he thought he had gotten the address wrong.  

The driveway was filled with large jacked up trucks and lots of dogs and several men -- mostly my brothers--holding guns and milling around.  I believe they were going hunting or coming back from hunting, or some such thing.  And of course it was a farm with barns and cats and all.  Did you ever see the movie Fools Rush In where Matthew Perry’s character goes hunting with Selma Hayek’s character’s brothers?  Yeah, It was kind of like that.

He drove by. . .twice.

Luckily he got up the nerve to stop and the date went wonderfully.  My mom was ready to marry me off immediately--though I am not sure if it was because she loved Rob so much or because she had six more of us to marry off at that point.

So, back to Dillon Montana, population 3500.  Picture my husband in his rented Volvo, dressed in khakis and a sports coat, listening to Dav Koz on the car stereo, pulling into a McDonald's in Dillon Montana.  His small car squeezed between two large jacked up trucks--in fact, the only non-truck in the lot.

He strolls inside to get a coke and conversation stops dead.  All eyes turn on him.  It is about here that he looks around and notices the large, burly, facial hair sporting, country bred patrons--not all of the male variety.  It was rather like sprouting a second head, the attention his clean cut, Penny Loafer wearing, vanilla appearance got him. 

As he was recounting all this to me over his Blackberry on his way out of Dillon, I wished I could have seen it with my own eyes.  But since I would have to walk a far sight more than a mile to have been there--725 miles actually--I will have to settle for the image in my head.  It’s probably better than reality anyway.