Sadly...none of our dates have been "worthy" of this particular blog. In other words, things are going well.
However, you have been patient in your waiting, and I do not want to disappoint any further, so I have pulled a gem out of my Grab Bag of Dating stories and present to you, "Lehi Girl".
I honestly don't remember what her name was. All I remember was that she was from Lehi. It all started one Sunday afternoon at my Aunt and Uncle's home in Springville. My wonderful Aunt Gretchen came in to visit with me, and soon got around to her intended purpose in striking up conversation. She started hemming and hawing and finally got around to asking, "Zach, there is a girl in our ward that I think you would be perfect for. I would really like to set you up with her...is that all right?"
It is quite difficult to tell your aunt, whom you care for very much, that you really don't want to get set up. I found myself engaging in stalling tactics trying to come up with a polite way to turn her down, however, she continued to laud the praises of this young woman and it became more and more difficult to decline.
My aunt started to tell me that this young woman had come into their Sunday School class that day and bore her testimony, and "had the sweetest spirit ever". Now, for those of you familiar with the Mormon Dating vernacular, you will recognize that "sweet spirit" is often used to help people focus on the inner beauty...and disregard the lack of outer beauty. So my aunt at this moment wasn't helping her own cause.
But, cave I did, and agreed to take this "sweet spirited" young woman out on a date.
About that moment, my Uncle Kevin came in and my aunt excitedly told him that I had agreed to take out this girl. He immediately turned to me and said, "Oh that will be fun...you woudn't know it because they aren't boastful, but her family is probably one of the wealthiest families in Lehi."
This girl just got more interesting.
Then my aunt opined that I better hurry and take the girl out sooner rather than later. I asked why and was told, "Because starting next week she will be quite busy with her running for Miss Utah."
And she just moved up the Interesting Scale another few notches.
I would like the record to stand that I agreed to go out with this girl BEFORE I knew she came from a wealthy family AND before I was aware that she was in fact, a beauty contestant.
So after the initial call to ask her out on a date, the day finally arrived that I was to meet Lehi Girl. She had told me the general area that her house was in Lehi and told me to look for the Camaro sports car parked out front, as that was her car.
To answer your current question...yes, she was quite attractive. But on top of that, she was actually very easy to talk to, entertaining, and just fun to be around. From the very beginning of the date, things were looking up.
So to start off, I decided that we should have dinner at the Tempanyaki Steak House in Provo. As usual, the entertainment of watching the chef as he prepared our food was very enjoyable, and we both enjoyed our meals of steak, chicken and scallops.
It should be noted that she did not partake of any of the scallops. This comes into play later. Keep that in mind dear reader.
After dinner, I thought it would be fun to drive up on top of Point of the Mountain and fly kites. I had purchased a six-foot triangle kite with 300 yards of industrial-strength kite string for just this occasion.
Thanks to the 4x4 prowess of my Toyota Tacoma, we found ourselves at the very top of the mountain in no time, with a very strong wind whipping its way from north to south.
We pulled out the kite and string and got it rigged up with no problems. Setting the kite to flight consisted of just hanging onto the spool of string and literally letting go of the kite. The wind lifted it to well over one hundred feet with no effort on our part at all.
So we settled into taking turns holding the kite while sitting on the tailgate of my truck and talking about music and concerts.
As we were discussing the various concerts that we had both attended, I felt a sudden gurgling come from within the recesses of my bowels. It was this point...that the date turned.
At first I just thought it was a little gas. So I stood up and casually walked around the truck mentioning that I needed to stretch my legs. Although I didn't really find that I had gas per se, I did feel a bit better. So I re-sat down next to my date.
That was a bad idea. The gurgling re-commenced...with a new fervor.
So I stood up again. This time, I walked a bit more and seemed to be feeling slightly better. But when I stopped walking...a new fury of gastrointestinal rage sprung forth from the depths of within and refused to abate itself. It took every last bit of conscious thought and effort to maintain some semblance of control over my bowels.
I calmly informed my date that, "something didn't feel right", and if she would be so kind as to forgive the early termination of our date, and perhaps be interested in a future outing, I would appreciate it if we could call it a night.
I think she could see the pain and stress across my face as beads of sweat began to form across my, (then well-follicled) head. She readily agreed and we began to put everything away.
At this point, I might add that what once was a beautiful and glorious thing to behold, a six-foot wing span kite, soaring through the clouds, now became the bane of my existence as I tried to rip it from its lofty height. It refused to come down quickly, but I soon found that the grab and jerk method cut it back down to earth more rapidly. It was then unceremoniously tossed into the back of the truck and we rocketed off the top of the mountain towards civilization and indoor plumbing.
For those of you who have never been to the top of Point of the Mountain, I should like to point out at this time that the 1.5 mile road is not paved and has been grated into what is commonly referred to as, "Wash Board". Over 7,000 feet of continuous mini-speed bumps that I was pummeling at around 50 mph. It was not a smooth journey.
I refer you back to the earlier paragraph were I described the inner battle that was quickly tipping sides between my bowel control, and the undisputed champion of cuisine chaos.
Plus 50 mph wash board roads.
White-knuckled and sweating quite profusely, I finally arrived, still pants-unsoiled, at some glorious asphalt and pavement. Heaven bless the person who invented that.
At this point in the drive, it was another 2.5 miles back to her house, or 2 miles to a sketchy-looking, sanitarily-questionable gas station.
I chose the gas station.
As we flew into the parking lot, I was throwing the parking brake on and jumping out of the truck as it was still settling into the parking slot. I hollered to my date that I would be right back and sprinted into the gas station, past the dozing cashier and down the hall to the bathrooms that lay beyond.
When I arrived at the restrooms, I was halted in my progress by a large sign on the Men's Room that said, "Closed For Cleaning".
I said aloud, "I don't think so!", as I pulled the sign down and threw it at the Women's Restroom door. I then jerked the door open and made for the nearest stall.
I will save you, the reader, a description of what fresh new horror took place in that stall, in that restroom, in that gas station on that day. But let me assure you...it was a fight between man and the forces of evil, that no digestive system should ever host battle to again.
Towards the end of my sojourn on the porcelain battle field, I took pause to look around the stall and bathroom and realized WHY it had been closed for cleaning. It looked to me like mine was not the only insurgence of meal time that day. It appeared the previous victor had not been the mortal warrior...but the unleashing of his....
Never mind that...I had a date sitting out in the truck!
I quickly cleaned up and, head a little higher, chin up and chest puffed just a bit; I proceeded to march back out to the truck and climb back into the driver's seat. By look alone, my date could see that things were much better now.
We proceeded to drive back to her home. I again apologized for what had happened and plans for a future outing began to form.
We arrived at her house and I walked her to her door. About halfway up her walk, the demons of digestion once again reared their ugly heads, and a fresh new battle ensued within. I realized...I didn't have much time.
However, we had arrived at her doorstep and I proceeded to give her a hug, an expression of gratitude for the evening company, and a promise to call her again. As I was turning to leave, her father showed up and invited me to come in and sit down.
There comes a point in every man's life when he reaches an extreme in physical exertion and bodily control. He comes to a line that he believes is the final extent to which he can go before collapsing to the reverse swing of exhaustion. However, it is in these moments that he realizes he can hold out, just a little longer, and remind the bowel controls that they are to be submissive to him, and not the other way around.
Although I declined the offer to sit, I did spend a few moments of anguish answering questions that her dad felt obligated to ask me. To this day, I feel bad about the brevity of my answers and the quickness of my responses as I tried to hurry the man up.
I finally was able to pull away from the house and head straight to the nearest gas station to once again take the battle inside.
After that round, I had a 20 minute drive to look forward to, as I made my way back to the BYU Approved housing that I lived in. At about 9 minutes in...the war once again resumed within, and I found myself gripping the steering wheel with a grand determination, knowing that it was my only focal point with reality at that moment. Everything else swirling around me was hallucinations and mirages messing with my sanity.
At 12 minutes in, my gas light went on, warning me that I was about to lose my chariot.
At 13 minutes I was pulling into a gas station that didn't have Pay At The Pump.
At 17 minutes, I had $10 worth of gas and was scribbling my signature with a shaky hand on a check that was barely legible.
At 18 minutes, I was screaming out onto the street and making my way through the Provo traffic towards my home and the sweet, sweet call of my toilet.
At 20 minutes, my truck still rocking slightly from the sudden stop and park that it had just been put through, I was fumbling with my keys trying to unlock the front door.
At 20 minutes, 5 seconds, my chatty neighbor came out to ask me about a good time to come over for some hometeaching.
At 20 minutes, 8 seconds, I begged forgiveness of the Lord for my abrupt disregard and ignoring of my hometeacher, while taking the stairs three at a time towards the greatest seat in a house.
At 20 minutes, 15 seconds, I found myself in a position that I would continue to hold for the next 14 hours as those scallops that once swam in the sea, were returned with a flourish to the wretched watery Hell whence they came.
As a postlude, I did apologize to my hometeacher, who admitted that he could tell something wasn't right. And I did call that girl again as I promised.
But then she met a guy at school and was engaged within a few weeks.
And thus ended my adventure with Lehi Girl.
