Isn’t it the best when you meet someone and love them despite their football team preference?
I’ve “known” Minxy Boy for five years though we’ve never met in person. So entrenched is he in Middle Chicken’s life, he’s on the list of non biological chickens. They met the first day of law school. Their adventures could fill reams and should the law suddenly not hold a place for him; a life in comedy would suit.
He’s a Florida State fan. Say that in a whisper, like you’re spreading gossip. I know right? I resolve not to speak of the upcoming game–Bama-FSU–September 2, to open the season. For the sake of my daughter and all. It’s better I don’t talk Bama in public.
He’s in town for business. He’s a big wig in the Florida Jewish Federation. And, you know, why not have a national conference in August in Scottsdale to show off our great city and its oppressive monsoon heat? The guy’s from Florida and he thought it was hot. Event planner clue.
I see him from across the restaurant. He, and his wide smile, come to greet me. My feet have a life of their own and do a sort of happy dance paired with a squee right in the middle of Blanco. We’re trying to show him what a great taco tastes like. The lady at the table next to ours is not thrilled with a squee so near her meal.
Just like you never should, we talk religion and politics at the table. Minxy Boy has never seen a rosary. Happy to oblige I pull one from my purse and we wonder at the thought: Minxy, a good Jewish boy, posing with the blessed piece from the steps of the Vatican, with the label, “Jesus is my homeboy.” We decide against it. The lady at the table next to us shoots me a look. No word on whether she’s an offended Catholic or Jew. Either way, I’m an equal opportunity sort of girl.
I watch him interact with Middle Chicken and spy the times they must have buoyed each other during law school so far from home. I witness the secret jokes only the best of friends know and their mutual support for the success of one another. Joy fills the heart of a mother when chickens are well loved away from home.
He also loves Lawyer Boy, Middle Chicken’s beau, and announces, “I can’t wait for him to marry us.” Again, the look from the chick at the next table. I’m tempted to ask she’d like to join us. Instead I sip my Grey Goose martini, extra dirty, two olives, and smile.
She’s not going to affect my heart swell. It’s a perfect one. One of those magical evenings that can only be summed up one way: Father, Son, Holy Spirit, Roll Tide.
The Duchess Diaries 