The Courtship of Sweet Babou: Part One
By Betty Fokker on January 12, 2013
My first date with Sweet Babou was an eventful one, y'all.
I had met Sweet Babou at a party a few weeks earlier, and was forthwith enamored of his big brown eyes and geeky cuteness. Plus, he got flustered when I talked to him and I find a guy thinking I am pretty enough to get flustered about simply enchanting. Thus I flirted, as only the Fokker could flirt. This was not what you would call subtle. I read his palm and told him there was a redhead in his future. He didn’t get it. I gave him a back rub. He didn’t get it. I sat on his lap and whispered in his ear. He didn’t get it. WTF?? Why wasn’t this dude suggesting dinner and a movie, or at least some making-out in a corner, or even a quickie in the coat closet? It couldn’t be a lack of interest; I could feel significant interest when I sat on his lap. It was a very impressive interest, and made me want to … get to know know him better as a person.
Well, I am not shy. And I know interest when I sit on it. So I took matters into my own hands (not that, you perverts) and invited him to a wedding which I was going to be a bridal attendant in that was taking place a few weeks hence. My inherent honesty forced me to make full disclosure, though – I warned him my bridesmaids gown was a bright and happy shade of rosy pink. I’m a redhead. Just visualize the awesomeness. In spite of the danger to his retinas, he agreed to come as my date.
Little did know what awaited him.
It just so happens my parents were also attending the wedding, and we were seated at the same table with them. They were their normal selves in front of my cute new potential stud-muffin, which is very sad considering how weird they are. Mom took one look at him and, “What are you? Eighteen?” My Sweet Babou has a very youthful face, and mom was clearly concerned I was rocking the cradle of love, cougar-style. Thank you for that, Mother. He was actually 24, which I look back and realize is really young, but it is also a ‘normal’ age for a date with a 28 year old woman. Moerover, I was substitute teaching in high schools at this time, so the implication I had a date that young was squicky. I told my Mom, “Yeah, when I am teaching I try to cull the legal ones out as dates.” Jay-zus.
Then my Dad, who had noticed Mom had brought her boobies with her in her dress, and in spite being a former gynecologist who had been married for nigh on 30 years, was so excited by the novelty of her sweater bunnies that he felt free to grab a handful right there at the table when the impulse struck him. Mom was talking to Sweet Babou at the time. Sweet Babou seemed … startled. He also seemed enthralled when my Mom threatened Dad with a fork and told him, “I’d stab you but it would waste clean cutlery.”
The date only went downhill from there for my poor Sweet Babou. I’ll tell y’all about it next Saturday. Gotta go for now. There is a pissed-off Spock who wants to know why my head is not up her ass where it belongs.
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