Hopefully I’m not the only one who has these thoughts and I’m just the one who admits them in public. Many years ago I thought of publishing a book containing my fantasies about women I had met or had seen, thinking people might buy it to see if they were in there and what I said about them. One of my first was my babysitter, Sharon, so that shows you how long ago it was.
The other day I met yet another "what if" woman, and she sparked my interest in reviving the project. For the purposes of my blog I think I’ll limit this to the women I meet and not go into any great detail on the fantasy I had about them. This might offend and get me into trouble with husbands and boyfriends if anyone finds out.
As a diabetic I have to have my blood work done every few months just as a check to see I am not getting any worse. Normally I go to the clinic here in Westbank, but I had to be in Rutland to pickup a friend’s doors that I am replacing, so on Wednesday I went to the clinic in Rutland for the first time. I got there around 7:30 and there were a few people in line so I thought I’d just watch the line to see when to get in the line. A van pulled in beside me and a beautiful blonde, with the most amazing long blonde hair got out and walked up to the line, so I jumped out and got in behind her. She was about maybe 5′ 6" and had a gorgeous figure – not my usual petite thing, but certainly nice. She had on a white top and black capri pants and sandals. There was no ring. My brain was racing, trying to think of what to say to start a conversation. There was a guy sitting on a Harley who wasn’t actually in the line, so I asked her if she thought he was at the front of the line, or back of the line? Then I said I guessed he was where ever he wanted to be. We chatted a bit about nothing, then went in. After we gave our cards I sat beside her with my paper and again tried some small talk, hoping to get that one key fact that would let me get to know her better, but no such luck. Then they called her name, "Margaret Jones", and I just about fell out of my chair. When they called mine they put me in a chair right across from her. Taking blood only takes a minute or so, and I was so anxious to get it done and meet her outside, where I would say something about the names. Just as she was done, and I was done, I lept out of the chair to follow her, but my nurse said I had to give a urine sample. Damn! I did it as fast as I could and rushed outside, but she was gone.
Now I had a name, albeit a "Jones" of which there is no shortage, and I knew she lived in Rutland, so I started my quest on the Internet to find her. Couldn’t find any "Margaret", but I did find a "Margie", which suited her better anyway. Well, this boy has no shame, so I sent her a letter in the faint hope this was her, and she might respond. I said if it wasn’t her to have a good laugh on me and forgive me for being the hopeless romantic I am. Think though, if it is her, and we meet and live happily ever after? What a great story that would make, eh?
Hope lives on.