There was one gentleman that I talked to briefly on the dating site who I was immediately drawn to for his clean-cut, youthful, and what appeared to be, fairly normal life. A farmer, yes, but also an entrepreneur who enjoyed cooking, and worked a full-time job on top of all of this. My farmer friend had a nice profile, and decent, wholesome pictures. Awwwww....how cute. Three out of six of his profile pictures were of llamas from his farm. I made a mental note these little critters must mean an awful lot to him, and obviously hold a special place in his heart. What a guy!
This potential interest impressed me so much, in fact, I did what I usually do not do---I made the first contact, and to score some points, I mentioned the llamas and how I enjoy knitting. Commonality. A real ice-breaker. It didn't take long for my farmer friend to respond to me, and good-naturedly correct my misconception that these were llamas. They were, in fact, donkeys. Oh, well---my bad. I wasn't brought up on a farm, and you know, just about anyone could make the same mistake. I found out that this particular Prairie God's entrepreneurial endeavor was fabricating an intricate corn maze on his property, and he was also in the beginning stages of marketing his own line of freezer jam. As someone who loves to cook, and has been told many times to sell what she makes, this fascinated me to no end. More! I wanted to know MORE! Phone numbers were exchanged, and he agreed to call me that night. All day, I did as many of us have done that have never spoken to someone we have only seen in a picture---I began to imagine what his voice sounded like. Deep, but not stern; soft, but not smarmy. I envisioned standing at the fence of the donkey pen at sunset, patiently waiting for the freezer jam to set, feeling his muscular arms around me, and hearing him purr softly into my ear, "Let's head on back to the house and check to see if the jam is ready yet" Oh, I'll be the first to admit that I was letting myself get carried away already, but how could I help myself?
And so the day slugged on.....in between muddling through my job, I daydreamed about talking to my donkey farmer that night. I hoped my voice wouldn't catch and let on how eager I was to hear from him. I needed to calm my happy ass on down. The day ended, dinner was finished, and I looked at the clock. "Seven-fifteen!" I said out loud. My daughter heard me, and asked "Seven-fifteen what?" "Oh, nothing..." I countered. I made some lame excuse that I had laundry to put away, and pocketed my phone, heading upstairs for a little privacy. Any minute now............any minute.
Good as his word, he rang my phone at seven-thirty precisely. I then had a small panic attack when I wondered, "Oh, my God! Is my call-back tone still Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get it On"? Then I remembered I changed that to Barry Manilow's "Copacabana" quite some time ago. I didn't want to spoil things by giving him the wrong impression of me while he enjoyed the ring-back tone while his party was reached. Whew. That was close.
"Hello?" I answered coyly in my very best telephone voice. "Stacy?", came the response from the unexpectedly high-pitched voice on the other end. Damned wrong number! "Ummmm..no. I think you have the wrong number..", I stammered. "Isn't this the girl I've been talking on ********** to?" An eternity passed.......that voice.....screwing my name up with someone else's..NOOOOOOOOOOO! I probably should have hung up right then and there, but something made me hold the line. Love isn't always on time, and it doesn't always have a deep voice, either. True, I wasn't Stacy, but some guys aren't great with names.....so I informed him that, no, this was Sheila, and how the hell are you, my high-pitched-voice, manly-man, donkey-breeding farmer, you?
That was basically my contribution to the conversation, because from that moment on, I was not going to be permitted to get a word in edge-wise until much later.
I was informed within the first two minutes that he had lost his job over two years ago, because of course, his boss "had it in for him". "No problem, you still have a farm, don't you?", I wondered silently to myself for as I said, I was not permitted to speak. It sounded like all was well with the farm, and the sporadic handy-man jobs he was fortunate to have in place of the job he was terminated from so unjustly. The ex-wife was a real b****, now (his words), but they used to get along "real well". Why, she was even very understanding about not receiving child support. The single mother in me was now beginning to get a bit suspicious---he wasn't supporting his children, and the mother of his children had been all right with getting no support, and now all of a sudden she wasn't okay with this? Why, I wondered, was that? The answer was going to be forthcoming, if I could just learn to shut the voice in my head up, and be patient. Yes, it seems that the ex-wife was just fine and dandy with absolutely no child support. "What changed all of that?" I silently asked myself, and as if on cue, he told me. "She never did like the donkeys. That's why she left, you know. Because of the donkeys. I was spending too much time on them, and she left. No hard feelings, or anything, but about a year ago, I bought three more of them. Now she's got a lawyer, and she's going after everything, even the farm. She ain't touching my freezer jam, though." I did get a word in edge-wise at this point, because the dots were starting to come together for me,and to be quite frank, again speaking as a single Mom, I was pissed for his ex-wife. "So, your wife left you because of the donkeys, you aren't paying child support, and she isn't giving you a hard time about it, then you find the money to go out and buy three more? And you wonder why she's taking you and your asses to court?" I didn't wait for the reply--I hung up.
I never heard from the farmer again, and it's just as well. Any man who is obviously so preoccupied with getting another ass for his stable is not a man I could be interested in.
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