Out the other night, peopling with some happenstance people we sometimes people with, one of the people, Scott, was there, and we hadn’t seen Scott in months, so we peopled a bit extra and then when Scott was talkin, The Mister asked me, “You know who he looks like?”
“Grady who? Grady Dean?” asked Scott.
“No, my cousin Grady.”
“Wait, you know Grady Dean? Blond? Used to race motorcycles?” I asked.
“Yeah. Hell yeah, I grew up with him.”
“That’s trippy! I dated him.”
“You know he went to jail a while back?”
“Can you guess why he went to jail?”
He never was good with money. He out-earned me five times over, but he had no idea what he was doin. I did his books.
This throws you, I know, but it was just Quicken, and Grady didn’t know how to use his new-fangled computer and he paid me to teach him how to do his books.
I made that clear, “I didn’t sleep with him and do his books for free. It was not like that.”
They nodded and stared at The Mister.
People get weirded-out when I say things like this in front of my husband, but people often overlook important things:
One, The Mister isn’t intimidated by anything less than bein trapped in a snake-filled MRI while bad music plays.
Two, he’s known me since I was thirteen. It’s not like this is all new to him.
Y’all, I learned more about Grady Dean in ten minutes than I did about him in the year or so we dated. It was off-and-on — just dating, nothing serious. Well, I suppose it was on and then off-and-on and then off.
Grady Dean (not his real name) was one of the strangest ‘relationships’ I had. I’m not even gonna tell you all the things, but it was strange, mk?
He looked like Robert Redford and like trouble, ya know? I went out with him a bit unwillingly, because he was decidedly cool, and I’m not really into cool. He also enjoyed terrible pastimes like motorcycles and boating, and in case you haven’t read me long, I am not all about boats. But he was extremely good looking, and charming, and damn, he was persistent. He was all about wining and dining me.
You’d think he was tryin to get in my pants, but he was absolutely not tryin to get in my pants, which was polite, confusing, and annoying as fuck.
In my twenties, I was not lookin for a man. I was lookin for fun. I didn’t have thoughts of settling down, but apparently, I gave off a she’d make-a-nice-wife vibe, cause men are delusional bastards who see what they want to see.
One time, Tori and I had some people over to dinner and Grady made some awkward silence-inducing comment about how he can eat Burger King three times a day because he likes it and not everyone needs so much variety.
run joey! run!
Y’all know I could not live a long and happy life with some burger-eatin boater.
My parents loved him. They thought he was swell.
I did not love him.
“We were not in love, or anything gross like that,” I said to the people.
I enjoyed Grady’s company. He was the kinda guy, who, when my serial monogamist friends all had dates and wanted me to go, made for a nice companion.
Last I saw Grady, Beauty Queen and I were peerin out her back window, cause he lived behind her and he did still look good mowin that grass.
Not leave our husbands good, but good.
His mugshot is not so hawt.
It’s a small world. Certain circles in The Circle City are undeniably small given its 860,000-some people.
Again, I cannot explain how tightly my ball is wound.
Turns out Scott lived in my neighborhood. Not that I ever knew him then, just as I don’t really know him now. We didn’t go to school together, but we sure do know a lot of the same people, for happenstance.