I was in fourth grade. Mr. Herman had stepped outside and Mevan (names will be changed to protect the innocent) was about to repeat some information that I apparently made the mistake of telling him in confidence.

“I know who loves Seather…I know who loves Seather… (again, names changed…) I know who loves Seather.”

“Play it cool,” I remember saying to myself. Seather might not know; I mean I am a smooth dude (did we say ‘dude’ back in fourth grade? Not important, focus on the story). Just let it go and everything will be fine.

“I know who loves Seather…I know who loves Seather… I know who loves Seather.”

Really?!? Mevan, be quiet! And where the heck is Mr. Herman?

“I know who loves Seather…I know who loves Seather… I know who loves Seather.”

Seather isn’t happy. Who can blame her? Note to self, no more ‘in-confidence’ conversations with Mevan. Everyone is looking at Seather. She looks uncomfortable… I have to do something…

“I DON’T LOVE SEATHER, I JUST LIKE HER,” I exclaimed as I emphatically stood up from my desk.

***

I never was what you would call a lady’s man. I tended to act more from my heart than my mind. Just didn’t really serve me well.

Also in fourth grade, Mevan and I decided we would see if any of the girls in our class liked us. I know what you are thinking. Why, would I still be hanging in with Mevan after the Seather debacle? Who knows, it was fourth grade and I guess I was loyal.

My note to Telly was fine-crafted and well-thought out.

“Do you like me?”

Box – Yes

Box – No

Please check one – Andy

Carefully, folded with ‘Telly’ written on the front.

I finally mustered the nerve to pass the note which made its way to Telly.

She opened it. Looked at me. Raised her hand, asked Mr. Herman if she could go to the bathroom and motioned for me to come outside.

Excellent! This is good! If she’s asking me to go outside, that means she’s not going to the bathroom to throw up. I’d say progress.

I asked Mr. Herman if I could go to the bathroom and made my way outside. In my mind, Telly would grab me a give me a peck on the cheek and say, “that is my answer.”

The reality was, Telly did grab me, threw me against the wall and said, “If you write anything like this again, I will kill you.”

***

My prowess with the opposite sex continued throughout middle school, high school and college. While in college, I was on – what I thought to be – a very nice date with Folly. At the end of the date, Folly said – – “Andy, I think you are great, but you know why we can’t go out.”

“I do,” I said.

No clue. To this day, clueless.

After college, I was working at a boutique agency in New York and was about to go out on a first date at the Met. I knew the girl (I don’t have to make up a name because I don’t recall her name) I was going with was a fan of the art world, so I wanted to prepare myself. A friend of mine from work prepped me, and I was confident I could speak intelligently about some of the exhibits.

When we walked into the Met, I was ready. “Wow, look at that piece over there. I love how the branches flow outward, asking to be touched.”

“Um, Andy – that’s the headset station to pick up headphones and recorders so you can follow along with the tour of the artwork.”

No second date.

***

Then there was the time when I was working at a different agency in New York where we used to reach out to reporters, producers and talk show hosts to promote authors. A colleague of mine suggested I contact a radio producer in Dallas for my first phone call. She might not take my pitch, but she’ll take your call and listen to you.

In September that radio producer and I will be married 19 years.

Mic. Drop.

 

 

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