So I was hanging out at the Screaming Eagles tailgate with D of DCenters and a bunch of his friends, whom he'd just introduced me to. And I notice this guy with the most INCREDIBLE completely amazingly dreamy eyes. He is talking to an authoritative woman with brown hair. I mean this guy is HOT. Since D has already been gracious enough to introduce me to people, I think, Gee, I wonder if any of these folks know that guy? Maybe I'll get introduced to him later. Then I look around to see if I can see any other interesting people. My hearing isn't always the greatest, and I was distracted by said people-watching while D and a couple of other guys were having this conversation, off quietly to the side. (That, or he's making it up, but D would never do that. Right, D?)
Dave walks over to me. "You know who that is, right?"
"Who? That guy?"
"Yeah, that's Bobby Boswell."
I stifle the urge to reenact a Jack Benny spit-take. "No shit, hey, you're right." It's a slightly awkward feeling, since a few minutes before I told Joanna of my plans to pick up a Boswell replica jersey when we head into RFK. Very close to the kind of fanboy behavior that invites William Shatner to ask about whether or not I am currently in posession of, as they say, a life. No, the important thing now is to just be cool about the entire thing. I turn to my drinking buddy who hasn't overheard the conversation with Dave. "Hey, it's Boswell over there." He picks up on the studied non-chalance, barely raising his eyebrows in response.
"Is it? Cool." There's a pause as we are earnestly aware of how forced the casual tone of conversation has become. "You know, I woke up with Heather Mitts in bed this morning..." Complete deadpan. A nice escalation of the mood.
"You too?" I offer.
"Who hasn't?" adds Dave, safely out of earshot of his girlfriend.
I can't be rude and stare at other people and not listen to the conversation that is going on right next to me, though. I turn back to D just in time to hear:
Still, now I've been challenged. It's important to establish alpha-male ultimate coolness at this point. "So, um... Jesus Christ came over this morning. Wanted to borrow a cup of sugar. I told him this was the last time..."
I'm a little confused, but I had some of that blue stuff which has vodka in it, so this is still a funny remark. I laugh. D seems to catch on to my confusion because he says something about Bobby Boswell. At first I assume he's still talking about going to get that jersey, but he points. I look. "That's him, right over there."
"HIM?! That guy?" I'm stunned! Because while Boz is cute enough in his photographs...
...they just don't really bring across the extreme hotness that we were all blessed to witness there in person at the tailgate. I think this is because Bobby squints in a lot of his pictures.
So I tease D (while surreptitiously staring at Bobby Boswell) that he ought to just go ask Bobby for one of his shirts. Then he'd have a real one instead of a replica, AND save money. "No!" D says. "I'm not going to be That Guy."
"I know what you mean," I say emphatically (while surreptitiously staring at Bobby Boswell). This response is a useful reminder that I had better not be That Girl either. Or else my new friends will think I am uncool and will not want to hang out with me at future tailgates. I'm on notice, so I'm careful (while surreptitiously staring at Bobby Boswell). It occurs to me that I could walk right up to Bobby, grin at him, and inform him that I'm lucky, and that if he kisses me, we'll win the game. I'm just tipsy enough to maybe pull this off without clamming up and standing there grinning mutely like a stupid idiot. And, with just a small bit of the luck I'd be claiming, I might be able to get him to kiss me on the cheek, which would make the thirteen-year-old in me happy for weeks. But I don't dare try this, because I've got to be cool.
Continue reading "Cool as a grape slushie!" »