||02-27-2012 11:07 PM
i dug this up thinking that it might be perfect for the next quotation debate entry but had forgotten how it ended
the ending made me laugh
for some reason
How I Met My Wife
Jack Winter, the New Yorker, July 25, 1994.
It had been a rough day, so when I walked into
the party I was very chalant, despite my efforts
to appear gruntled and consolate.
I was furling my weildy umbrella for the coat
check when I saw her standing alone in a corner.
She was a descript person, a woman in a state of
total array. Her hair was kempt, her clothing shevelled, and she
moved in a gainly way. I wanted desperately to meet her, but
I knew I’d have to make bones about it, since I was travelling
cognito. Beknowst to me, the hostess, whom I could see both hide and hair of, was very proper, so it would be skin off my nose if anything bad happened. And even though I had only swerving loyalty to her, my
manners couldn’t be peccable. Only toward and heard-of behavior would do.
Fortunately, the embarrassment that my maculate appearance
might cause was evitable. There were two ways about it,
but the chances that someone as flappable as I would be ept
enough to become persona grata or a sung hero were slim.
I was, after all, something to sneeze at, someone you could
easily hold a candle to, someone who usually aroused bridled passion.
So I decided not to risk it. But then, all at once, for some apparent reason, she looked in my direction and smiled in a way that I could make head or tails of. I was plussed. It was concerting to see that she was communicado, and it nerved me that she was interested in a pareil like me, sight seen. Normally, I had a domitable spirit, but, being corrigible, I felt capacitated—as if this were something I was great shakes at—and forgot that I had succeeded in situations like this only a told number of times. So, after a terminable delay, I acted with mitigated gall and made my way through the ruly crowd with strong givings.
Nevertheless, since this was all new hat to me and I had not time to prepare a promptu speech, I was petuous. Wanting to make only called-for remarks, I started talking about the hors d’oeuvres, trying to abuse her of the notion that I was sipid, and perhaps even bunk a few myths about myselfs.
She responded well, and I was mayed that she considered me a savoury character who was up to some good. She told me who she was. “What a perfect nomer,” I said, advertently. The conversation became more and more choate, and we spoke at length to much avail. But I was defatigable, so I had to leave at a godly hour. I asked if she wanted to come with me. To my delight, she was committal. We left the party together and have been together ever since.
I have given her my love, and she has requited it.