So Frit was browsing an online dating site when she came across a picture of a guy who looked a lot like an old friend’s younger brother. This was surprising to her because this particular brother of this particular friend was actually married. So she clicked on his profile to see what was up to, if he’d gotten divorced, etc. but quickly realized that it wasn’t who she thought it was and left the page without giving it any more thought.
Well, on this particular site, you can see who has viewed your profile, and the guy (age 28–that’s important information) whose profile she’d clicked on, saw that she had done so and sent her the following message (mind you, she never sent him a message, just clicked on his profile by accident):
Awkward moment for me. Just wanted to say your to old for me. But I really hope that my future wife looks half as good as you do when she is your age.
Have a good day.
Tell me you’re not laughing hysterically right now.
“When she is your age” … I’m crying I’m laughing so hard.
(And let’s also, of course, take note of the fact that this young whipper-snapper didn’t use the correct “your” or the correct “to”. But then again, maybe it’s just us old biddies who use proper grammar.)
Oh man. The blogging material we’re getting out of these sites is well worth the price of the subscription. I can’t make this stuff up!
Sometimes I think I’d like to elope–that is, of course, once someone actually asks me to marry them. Which I’m feeling more confident about than ever these days, due to the quite factual statistic I recently heard that 97% of all people (Americans I’m assuming) marry before the age of 45. Thems good odds, people. Good odds.
But elopement … something about that idea really sings to about 49% of me. But the other 51%? Reeeaaally wants the party.
And speaking of marriage–I’d like to just state for the record that I don’t really want to give up my last name. I know. It’s so odd for such a supposedly old-fashioned girl like me to say such a thing, but I’m serious. I’d really just like to stay Krista Maurer.
The problem with this, of course, is … what last name do the children get? Mine or the dude’s? And I don’t really want me or my someday-mister to have a different last name than our children.
Of course there’s always hyphenation. In fact I met a couple on my mission who did just that. She was a Boundy. He was a Harris. And so they became the Harris-Boundy’s (I don’t know how they decided whose would go first.) And by “they,” I mean “they.” The wife became a Harris-Boundy. And the husband became a Harris-Boundy. Which I really love. I mean, the whole point is to mesh two lives right?
But Maurer is a usually-mispronounced-handful-of-a-name on it’s own. I can’t imagine how that would work hyphenated.
These are the kinds of things that keep me awake at night.
Day five began with tossing all my junk into my little suitcase and getting ready to go to the airport–but not before I ran by this little boutique I love to visit when I’m home called ArtWare. I’d stopped by earlier in my visit and bought some delicious goodies, but had passed up this amazing conch ring. It was totally impractical so I didn’t buy it at the time, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I still have no idea where I’ll wear it, but I love it, and I’m glad I went back.
Mom and I also went to lunch one more time for a final meal of shrimp ‘n grits, banana pudding (again), and Coca-Colas in sweaty glasses. I’m still thinking about the shrimp ‘n grits. I think about them a lot, actually.
After lunch we made another quick stop at HarbourTowne, the quintessential Island attraction, where I spent much of my babyhood and childhood. We walked past the big oak tree where Greg Russell sings in the summertime for the tourists and the statue of the boy reading (whose lap I used to climb up into and try to read along with) and the lighthouse and Granddad‘s boats. It was crazy hot so I wasn’t too keen on spending much time, but it was nice to stroll for a quick minute.
Once we left the harbour, on our way to the airport, we drove past Grandma and Granddad’s old house. I’ve only driven past it one other time since they moved permanently to Florida and both times have been oddly surreal. Growing up, we went there every Sunday for dinner and I’d pop by frequently after school during the week–but now those memories seem worlds away. Like a dream.The house is so familiar and yet it seems like I never knew it.
After memory lane, we finally pointed the car toward the airport and within a few hours I arrived back in Utah, to a state exploding with fireworks in celebration of Pioneer Day, and real life.
It’s still boggling to think it was a full year ago that I was there, living and working. Where does the time go? Honestly. I sit here in my dark room shaking my head trying to remember. Sometimes I just really want to call a time out. But you can’t, can you? Not really.
You just have to keep going. Keep moving. Taking a weekend here or there to remember.
My sister and niece flew back to Arizona on Day 4 so I was mostly on my own as my mom made the airport run.
I opted for beach time alone–well, as alone as you can be on a resort beach during tourist season–but despite the crowds, I was still able to relax and read and enjoy quiet time with my mind and the waves. Honestly, as much as I like people, I really like to be by myself too. Perhaps more-so.
I did have a bit of company though. [See photo of lizard] That little sucker freaked the crap out of me when he scurried across my towel and into my bag as I was sunbathing. And despite flinging him to the nether regions of the sandy shore, he kept coming back. I think he liked the shade my lounge chair provided. If only he’d stayed off my foot.
After sufficiently frying my skin, I went home and took a long cold shower, threw on a cotton dress and flip flops, put my hair in a high, wet ponytail, and went to lunch at Atlanta Bread Co. where I ate a delicious sandwich followed by a pastry the size of my head and read a book until my eyes were tired.
Later in the day, mom and I joined dad on his sunset dolphin watch cruise and Mother Nature certainly obliged with a fine, fine showing.
I see pictures like that and I think to myself, 1) I grew up in the most enchanting place in the world. 2) the Southern coastal lowcountry is the beat behind my heart. and 3) God is most certainly real and was quite the visionary Creator.
That, right there, my dear friends, is my favorite place on Earth.
Stay tuned for my final day …
Day 3 was Sunday. It consisted of going to Church. Coming home from Church. And then playing with my smoochy-pop of a niece, who is also a star of a dancer, for the rest. of. the. afternoon. H-E-A-V-E-N. Let me show you:
My Happy Dancing Niece from Krista Maurer on Vimeo.
She will stand at the stereo as you push the buttons and say, “no” until you get to the song she wants. She’s very much a fan of Justin Bieber and Far East Movement.
But then again … maybe she’ll be a ballerina.
Little Ballerina from Krista Maurer on Vimeo.
After the dance parties died down, dad grilled up steaks and we had friends over to celebrate his birthday. And holy hannah, were those steaks good. Who knew my dad could grill like that?! I had no idea. He even made his own spice rub for them. What the?
I also squeezed a nap in there somewhere too. But, wow. What a great day.
Stay tuned for Day 4. And until then, I’ll leave you with smoochy’s laugh. She had my phone, turned it on, and was videoing herself (yes, she knows how to work an iPhone … better than me).
Such a Goose from Krista Maurer on Vimeo.
See Day 1 Here
And Day 2