The
lovely Mrs. Borengasser wasn’t always the lovely Mrs. Borengasser. I’m sure
she was lovely, of course. She just wasn’t Mrs. Borengasser.
We met
in Illinois …
I’m
taking a night class in Chaucer. You know who Chaucer is – that fat, little,
bald guy from the Middle Ages who wrote
The Canterbury Tales, and thus provided
jobs for thousands of English professors.
One
evening in class, during a break, an older woman strikes up a conversation.
“Where are you from?” she asks.
“Arkansas,”
I reply, knowing that I have probably just admitted to being pokey, dim-witted,
and in-bred, with only one pair of shoes to my name, and whose idea of dressing
up is a pork pie hat and a bowtie.
“Arkansas?”
she says. “How interesting. I know someone else from Arkansas.” She says
this in the same amazed tone of voice that a person might use to say, “There’s
a whooping crane nesting on the front porch.”
“It’s
not quite as interesting to me,” I admit. “I know hundreds of people from
Arkansas.”
“The
one I know is a woman who teaches here. Would you like to meet her sometime?”
This
is a question meant to only be answered in the affirmative. But I’ve been
burned before. “What’s she like?” I ask. “And, is there a fee or tip jar
involved?”
The
older woman begins describing her. I’m immediately on the alert. Be
careful, I caution myself. She’ll probably be speaking in Blind Date
Code.
In
Blind Date Code, having a great sense of humor means you’re loud and
obnoxious. Being intelligent means you wear Coke bottle glasses and
have so few friends that all you do is read. If you’re described as cute,
you’re dumb as a door. But having a good personality is the kiss of
death – you’re ugly as boiled cabbage.
The
older woman considers. “She’s intelligent, has a good personality, and a great
sense of humor.”
“Uh-oh,”
I think. “Trouble.”
“What
does she look like?” I ask hesitantly, hoping the answer doesn’t involve a
fair complexion, or nice regular features. In Blind Date Code,
these are bad.
“She’s
quite lovely,” says the woman.
I have
no idea what that means in Blind Date Code, so I shrug, “Sure, I’d be glad to
meet her sometime.” I figure that’ll be the end of it.
Two
weeks later, the older woman comes up during the break, and says, “How about
tonight?”
“Looks
kind of stormy,” I reply. “But it’s supposed to be sunny tomorrow.”
“No,”
she says. “I mean how would you like to meet the woman I was telling you
about? Tonight? After class?”
Caught
off guard, I agree.
And
so, that evening, I meet the future lovely Mrs. Borengasser.
We
talk about psychotic cats, French toast, garden slugs, and Uncle Scrooge.