The quiet roads lacked street lights, making for a long, dark drive to Viking Joe's home. "My shared custody thing is kinda crazy," he rambled. "You'll have ta come over for dinner this week to meet my kid. I'll fry up some fish. I get my license back soon. Can't wait to do more hunting. I'll call ya tomorrow..." Oy, how badly do I wanna see that Super Bowl ring? "That's my house behind these bushes right up here."
I pulled into the driveway of an unimpressive home.
"Wanna come in for a minute?"
"No, I'm going home now."
"Okay, but how about stepping out of the car so I can kiss you proper?"
Endeared, flattered, curious, and drunk on the thrill of an unexpectedly weird and exciting night, I agreed.
Viking Joe Kansas dropped to his knees when I approached him. He cupped my chin in his humongous palms. Next, a rather unnatural moment of kissing occurred. Imagine a minuscule meteor shard being swallowed up by a black hole, or Moby Dick attempting to woo a sardine, or Homer Simpson attacking a donut hole covered in pink sprinkles. But Joe Kansas didn't get handsy or slobbery or anything like that. We wished each other "Good night," and I returned home safely.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
NEXT MORNING:
Sh*t! How do I reject him? The dude ripped a guy's face off.
My phone rang at 10:30am. "I'm sorry I got carried away and started making plans for us," Joe said.
"That's nice. I appreciate it. Yeah, I'll be honest too. I just don't want to date you because of the size difference. I'd worry about my survivability."
Viking Joe Kansas unleashed a curt joyous laugh. "This was a good talk. I'll catch up with you later."
Kinda strange, yet relieving. "Okay,
great." That was easy. But I'd soon learn that football players aren't chosen for their
intellect. They're also not chosen for their moral values.
End Zone notes:
Game highlights: Viking Joe Kansas continued to make plays for Robyn. Robyn continued to remind him that she doesn't want to date him. She also refused to give him rides (of any sort) thereafter. He eventually stopped making passes. They'd remain cordial.
Months passed. They exchanged friendly messages here and there. In July of this year, Viking Joe contacted Robyn to share his big news: He got married. Actually, he was already married. He never divorced his wife. She wanted him back, so he said "sure." Seems he was keeping two rings hidden from view. Well that was an unexpected move to end the game!
Final Score? Let's recap:
-Viking Joe played the field while married. Added to several counts of drunk driving, and an incident wherein he attempted to rip a guy's face off, there's nothing super about Super Bowl Ring Man.
-Robyn did not play it smart, but she maintained her survivability. Plus she scored good story.
Smoke rises from the scoreboard. [It's confused.]
Coldplay rushes onto the field. Chris Martin looks lovingly at semi-conscious wife Gwyneth Paltrow and sings: "I will try to fix you!" She blows him a kiss. We cut to a Toyota commercial featuring the Prius.
We sat face to chest as he rambled. Viking Joe Kansas scored points with me: "You looked beautiful so I asked you to dance," "I'm 49" (my age then), "divorced" (me too), and that he'd played for an NFL team* decades earlier (Unlike me. I didn't make the final cut). I'd need to sleep with him to see the ring, I figured. But I'd suffocate and die in the process. It'd thus be challenging to share the story. Then again, I could be on top, but I'm afraid of heights. What to do?
"Why'd you only play for a year?" I asked.
"I got kicked off," Viking said. "There was a bad call, the refs jumped in, . . . I tore into the guy's face. But we're cool. We're buddies now," he chuckled, lifting his third beer for another swig.
Caring and helpful as I am, Viking Joe could've told me anything that night, and I'd take him home. So when he asked for a ride home because he lost his driver's license due to extreme alcohol habits, I readily agreed. "I warn you, though, I carry pepper spray." Oh yeah, that would've worked. Pretty pink covered full-proof ladies' pepper spray, tucked away in my bulging purse for moments when I need to say, 'Excuse me, sir, would you kindly keep your hands and body parts to yourself, open your eyes real wide and freeze so I can find my pretty pink pepper spray, aim, and then shoot? Thank you.'
We got to my car. I opened the passenger's door to shift the seat as far back as it would go. "I never had anyone so big in this car. The Prius is a compact." I giggled.
"It's alright, I got it." He's still flexible, I thought, as Viking Joe settled into the carseat.
Here's when I stop for a Public Service Announcement: No matter how caring and thoughtful she is, and no matter what kind of ring a man's hiding, or how many DUIs (Driving Under the Influence) he complains about, no female should ever get into a car with a male she don't know - especially not one built like a pregnant elephant.
Stay tuned for the final score.
*I honestly don't remember which team he played for - NY maybe. He played pre-Internet.
So you'll have to take my word, based on his word, for it. Other
folks in town have told me it's true and I've since found random photo
evidence.
