Are those bobbers on your sunglasses?

After my oh-so-charming date with Shooter McGavin, I make a rash decision and agree to a next night date... on a Friday. I'm mad at the world match.com for putting me through this, so I could really give a flying fish about this date. I mean... let's look at the facts:

He is from Alabama (hillbilly).
He went to A&M (this again??).
He was in the army.
He travels for his work (gone for a few weeks at a time).

I grab a dress and some sandals, throw them on and I'm good to go... Wait, I have a few minutes. I guess I can brush my hair. I know I'm going to show up and he is going to have arrived on either a horse (And no, my initial posting of wanting my prince to show up on a horse is NOT foreshadowing. this would be a yeehaw horse- not the valiant steed of a knight in shining armor), or he'd show up in a big ol' truck. Quite possibly maroon (TAMU). Maybe with a camo gun rack and deer antlers attached somewhere.

I get to Gloria's, and as I am walking up I get a message from Alabama that just says "here." Excellent. A well-spoken man of many words... I should probably keep this in mind in all future textual communication from this boy. I see a GIANT white truck with a rack (bike, not gun) on top and giggle a bit to myself that maybe that's his.

I walk in, flustered because I just had to walk a couple blocks due to the terrible parking conditions, and I am 2 minutes late. I hate. hate. hate being late to ANYthing... which is probably the number one reason MP and I did not work out... Well, maybe the top ten.

I look around. I don't see him. Maybe I see him? I text him to find out if he put our name down on the list and is he here because I do not see him. Rawr, rawr, rawr. In my head, I semi-joke with myself that he is the brown haired boy sitting at the bar with the maroon (A&M, duh) hat, the sunglasses with the little floatie bobbers, and the white button up, yet construction looking shirt. It's kind of a joke, right? because I think in my head that that HAS to be him, it won't be and I am going to feel silly for thinking he's SUCH a... hillbilly country boy.

No, Self, I say go with your gut. You are a genius with an uncanny knack of knowing stuff (psychic). He walks up, says my name, shakes my hand, and as I look into those eyes of his: game.over. I no longer care if he is wearing damned camo overalls and a cowboy hat (he's not really... at least, not tonight).

"I think I saw your truck," says me.
"Oh, the white one?" says him. (I KNEW IT!!! ME=GENIUS/PSYCHIC (situational analysis))

Let's look at some other facts:

I dated a guy from ENNIS, Texas whom I kind of adored.
He drove a big ol' truck, had a good lil dog and plaid sheets....
He was a cop, he dipped, liked to sit in his lazy-boy and watch baseball.... and I melted every time he called me "lady." Swoon, I tell you... swoon. So maybe, despite my best intentions I have a thing for country boys.

Again, I digress. We sit down.. He says things like "momma" and "Daddy" and had perfect teeth and these dimples, and a smile that made me sweaty... and I loved him was having a wonderful time. Am I in a match.com commercial?? Will they kick me out of this place if I crawl over the table and kiss him?

These flies on my food are hilarious. The annoying couple next to us are simply charming. My glasses? They are quite lovely, aren't they.... what with this rose color and all. "Oh, what's that Alabama? You dropped your fork on the ground and just asked to use mine? That's unfortunate, of course you may!" (Seriously?? What is wrong with me?? Red flag! Red flag! Knock if off, blondie! That is dis.gus.ting.... but, it says that he trusts me and wants to be closer with me, right...?).

Dinner is wonderful (don't remember what I ordered). Conversation was perfect (don't know what we talked about). and I have fallen in love and would like to go on a second date. He drove me to my car, called me darlin', and waited until I was safe and sound in the driver's seat. He even invited me to come hang out in FTW with his friend and him... but I opted not to. I needed to go drink more Sangria and name our unborn children.

This is a good look for me, anyway:

I love you. Call me.