Actually—I’d say it’s almost always beneficial to be creepy. Following this most innate of behaviors has led to many a happy ending and/or blog fodder. Last weekend Alex and I went shopping for his wedding band—which is to say we spent a max of about 20 minutes at Zales before I said “yep that works” and handed them my debit card. I then made him “quickly stop in” every other store that struck my fancy for the next hour and a half.
We’d worked up quite an appetite, so Alex consulted a list of restaurants he’s been wanting to try. The next on the list was some sort of Asian grill with great ratings but an unfortunate strip mall location next to a shady motel. I knew it was some sort of city gem but seriously—that hotel just screams “pay by the hour.” I wasn’t particularly enthused but decided to relent, since marriage is all about compromise and he’d just watched me sniff every single lotion at Victoria’s Secret.
We walked in, were seated, and ordered Saki. Their food was surprisingly yum and the ambiance was way classier than I’d expected. A few minutes into our meal the background music gave way to the light strumming of a guitar on the other side of a wall. A female voice began singing so I did a little bit of super sexy table dancing—where you have chopsticks in one hand and use the other to do Mariah Carey motions while rocking back and forth with a napkin on your lap.
It was a relaxing night after loads of wedding errands. Much of my list had been crossed off but I’d yet to locate someone to sing a song during the middle of the ceremony. Neither of us have musically talented friends.
“She should sing at our wedding,” I said, out of no where.
“The chick with the guitar.”
He turned to look but our view was obstructed, it was just a voice, an elbow, and an amp. We went back to eating. Five minutes later:
“Seriously. She should sing at our wedding. I’m going to write her a note.”
Alex watched as I ripped a piece of paper from the bottom of something I found in my purse. I uncapped my fountain pen and paused.
“What should I write?”
He slow motion shook his head, holding his hands up.
“This is all you,” he said, “I’m not a part of it.”
After we’d paid the bill I darted over to her tip jar and dropped the note in with a $5 bill. We drove away, cackling at my creepiness and remarking on this new experience of having asked a woman on a date.
Two hours later, she texted.
“This is Brandi—I got your note.”
I felt the way a prepubescent boy must feel when the cute girl in his math class sends him a snapchat.
She agreed to meet me for coffee the next day. I picked my safe place—a nondescript Starbucks where I also met The Other Woman but not the one where the creepy guy put his number in my phone while I was in the bathroom.
Five minutes into the conversation and I was pretty sure she was going to be one of my new best friends–kind of like the adorable photographer and/or any restaurant server that provides prompt refills of my water. It turns out she plays weddings all the time, as well as lots of local venues. When I mentioned her at work the next day, my hippie Buddhist boss remarked that she’d played at some house parties he’d attended, where certain substances were inhaled.
Clearly she is prime BFF material– She wasn’t even frightened away when I told her I was pretty sure the universe had brought us together and that we were meant to be.
A couple nights later Alex and I embarked on a new legally-required-in-our-state adventure known as “pre-marital counseling.” Thankfully it’s with the same pastor who’s marrying us and knows about this blog. When I told him about asking our wedding singer on a date via tip-note, he paused for a moment then responded: “From everything I know about you, this doesn’t surprise me at all.” Clearly I am surrounded by the right people.
What’s the creepiest thing you’ve ever said to a stranger? Have you made any bizarre requests that actually worked out? Do the people in your life expect certain odd behaviors from you?
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