Sounds extremely scandalous, doesn't it?
Before you start judging me, I am not a home wrecker.
The story is actually quite embarrassing.
A few weeks ago I was signing my daughter into her preschool class. Baby on one hip, juggling jackets, sippy cups and a bookbag. I'm not sure if I had even brushed my hair that day. Of course it was a yoga pants and t-shirt day. I looked rough.
"Excuse me," I hear. I look up to see -- oh my good Lord NO! One of the fathers who was trying to get to the sign in board that I was blocking was none other than a fling of mine from college. A very short fling.
Holy Mary Mother of God. I looked down at the ground, panicking, my heart about to explode.
I became instantly extremely busy with helping my 2-year-old do whatever she needed to do to hang up her jacket and get into her classroom.
Of course, as luck would have it, Mr. Fling and I kept getting in the way of each other. I felt like we were dancing a really messed up Tango. It was not sexy.
Finally, he was able to finish and get out of there. Neither of us said another word to each other. We never made eye contact. We never acknowledged we recognized each other.
You know how I know he remembers who I am?
He was acting just as weird as me.
Fast forward a few weeks.
My daughter tells me she is going to marry her little friend, GB.
Yes. It's Mr. Fling's son.