Editors Note:


EDITOR'S NOTE: Fresh off a three year managerial stint, your friendly neighborhood lenslinger is back on the street and under heavy deadline. As the numbing effects of his self-imposed containment wear off, vexing reflections and pithy epistles are sure to follow...

Thursday, February 14, 2008

MY Valentine

Stew and Shelly WaybackSome might call it love at first sight. All I kow is when the girl who would become my wife first walked into the convenience store I worked at, the lights flickered, the floor shook and I promptly forgot my middle name. If that weren't enough, the ravishing creature before me stared back as if she felt much the same (a possibility I didn't even consider at the time). Within days of that chance encounter we went out on our first date. She was a mature 17, beautiful and confident of who she could be. I was 19, fresh out of high school and headed for nowhere. Inexplicably, she didn't seem to mind. A heated summer romance followed. But by mid Fall, she'd decided to move back to Virginia. Stunned, crushed and a little troubled, I walked into the nearest Navy recruiter and turned my life over to Uncle Sam. Eighteen months later, I huddled in the bowels of a dank warship and wondered whatever happened to that little blonde. Imagine my shock when a Petty Officer handed me a note. "Some girlie's trying to get a hold of you," he said "she wants you to call her back."

Shelly and StewNeedless to say, I did. Hell, I tattooed my shins bounding up those metal ladders to get to an outside phone. When I got her on the line, my life took an immediate upturn. She was home from college. I lived on a boat. Somehow, we made it work and a few years later she rashly accepted my proposal. I used to scoff when my friends told me I was marrying too young. Only now do I realize just how young we were. Today of course, our torrid courtship feels like a John Hughes movie we once watched. With kids and careers taking up our every other thought, it's easy to forget the cataclysm of our first days together. But without that early upheaval in my life, I wouldn't be sitting here talking to you. See, writing takes a certain amount of cajones and had I not spent the last twenty years with this lady by my side, I might not have the grapes. So if you've ever read this humble site more than once, give it up for Mrs. Lenslinger, would ya? Every night she pounds on her piano and rolls her eyes as I stare at this cursed blank screen. Here's hoping you have someone as tolerant of your obsessions as my little Valentine.

Now if you'll excuse me I have to go, lest she break my thumbs...

7 comments:

crookedpaw said...

Son, that wasn't a double, a triple or even a middle of the game home run. That was a grand slam, in the last of the ninth, with the bases loaded for the world championship. You got a keeper. Congradulations!! Crookedpaw

Daniel said...

Dude, your wife's a babe. Would you give her my number?

cara michele said...

Awwwww! That's so cool! God bless you both. :)

Rosenblum said...

Lovely and touching story, Stuart.
Finally one topic worthy of your poetic writing skills.

Anonymous said...

And never forget my sage advice when first I heard of your impending nuptials...

“Dude, you better move before she wises up!”

HockeyPat/Cupid

Anonymous said...

Anybody else notice that Shelley gets prettier and Stu gets...well… Did I mention Shelley has gotten prettier?

HP

corporate management said...

Your wife was smokin' back then, and looks great now, too. You're a lucky dude. Does she miss the mullet?