A nerd speaks and is still a nerd. Unknown
I met my now fiancé in a foreign land. We shared splendid adventures that aren’t boasted about on dating sites. We both put equal effort into the budding romance.
He invited me warmly into his group of friends. He guided us on mind-blowing exploits. He was an undead warlock. I was a blood elf rogue. We were two peas in a pod. I was the rogue that tried to be sneaky, but found every glitch or cliff known to the world of Azeroth. That was fine though, because while I was staring down at impending death, he would just port me back to safety. We made a great team. I would assure the party that the traps were now disarmed, and we could proceed.
Everything is safe now guys! Heh…
Back to Reality
After three years of giant slaying, we got to know each other pretty well. I considered him my best friend. I shut a lot of other people out of my life at that time. He was kind and encouraging. I decided it was time to make a move. Yep, I took the first step. He lived far away. After we were talking almost daily, and I felt it was safe; I flew out to have a real date with him.
We went to our mutual shaman friend’s wedding. He didn’t wear any epic gear for the ceremony. Well, unless plaid shorts are considered epic wedding attire. LOL! We had loads of fun together. While we were dressed up at the outdoors wedding, a bird decided to bless my fiancé on his manly shoulder.
We decided to grab some sandwiches and chips from a cheesesteak shop before I left. This was the pivotal point in our date. This is when I believed in soul mates. He was the perfect gentleman. He pulled out my seat and paid for my meal. That was fine with me, because plane tickets are no cab fare. Our meal wasn’t anything fancy like caviar Twinkies, or you know, fancy stuff. I felt comfortable with him. His smile was so warm.
They called his number when his food was ready. He turned to walk back after retrieving his meal. He smiled at me. When he was walking, I could hear myself breathing. After about two hours of this, only 7 seconds had passed on the clock. His foot caught on the linoleum. The tray jerked. A monster French fry flew to the ground. I exhaled when I knew he wouldn’t fall. His smile turned to concern. He bent over. His hand shot up triumphantly with a potato torch. He announced, “Five second rule!” in the most authoritative voice that I had ever heard him use. His exclamation ricocheted off of the walls, like an echo in a canyon. He stuffed the greasy fry into his mouth and smiled ecstatically.
My face combusted into flames and my brain went into overdrive.
My body immediately went back to a safe temperature. Humor dropkicked me in the back of the head. I laughed so hard I probably sounded like a donkey in a state of rage. French Fry Security did not get embarrassed for us, or escort us off of the premises. The whole airport did not stop, for a moment of face palm. We enjoyed our sandwiches. I scolded him. He gave me puppy eyes, “But baby, that fry was like 37 cents.” He kept my heart when I boarded the plane.