The Time I Outsmarted My Wife Part Two

I have not always been so cool and desirable with the ladies.  For one thing, I sometimes still refer to women in general as “the ladies”.  This is both disrespectful and inappropriate.  What I mean to state, is that my general demeanor while interacting with heterosexual females could be described as unconscionably pitiful.  That is, my attempts at wooing specific female companionship invites pity from all that would witness it.  This should only be mentioned so that you will truly understand the difficulty of my task of hunting and live capturing the heart of a woman as wonderful as Wendy.

I have been fortunate enough to have been romantically involved with several amazing and UNfortunate women.  These women, out of pity or sheer curiosity of how I could exist, took some time out of their lives to allow me to attempt to court them.  Each person helped to teach me something about myself.  Ultimately, though we might not have worked out as a couple for whatever reason, these women prepared me for the pursuit of my wife.  I could not have pulled this off, without those lovely women who had the unfortunate job of educating me on the dos and what-the-hell-do-you-think-you’re-doings of romance.  For this, I will always be grateful.  So if any are reading, I’m sorry for the thing(s) I did or said, and thank you very, very much for your time.  Your efforts were not in vain.

After the class that Wendy and I shared was over, we went our separate ways.  She was studying an actual discipline and I was learning how to speak in front of people.  I still held hope that I would be seeing her in another class, perhaps media studies or non-verbal communication.  The odds were slim, but being a communications major with no math requirement, I couldn’t possibly calculate them.

Wendy sightings were rare on campus during the winter months, but I asked around about her and heard little bits and pieces.  “Yeah, I heard of her, she’s amazing,” “she is incredibly nice,” “Well, she’s definitely out of YOUR league,” were some of the general statements I got.  But the best piece of information I got during that time was: “Her boyfriend is a pilot, oh, and he has a pony tail.”  The weak spot of the armor had revealed itself.

The fact that her current boyfriend attempted to rock a pony tail, not sport long hair mind you (totally acceptable), but a PONY TAIL.  His long hair tied back in a rubber band or ribbon as to negate the purpose of growing one’s hair out in the first place gave me hope for two reasons.  This meant Wendy did not have perfect instincts and/or good judgement when it came to men (necessary for me to even qualify).  It also meant that eventually Wendy would  realize that she was dating a guy whose head was stuck in colonial America of the 1770’s.

A pony tail has a timeline in a relationship.  A girl might see it and think it is exotic or daring, maybe even mistake it for badboy charm, but it wears out like the batteries included with your television remote… fast.  I had a ticking clock on this relationship as long as the pilot didn’t get a haircut.  However, the clock stopped on weekdays when the pilot was away and Wendy wasn’t forced to look at the silly, hairy ghost bobbing up and down behind his head.

There was the miniscule chance that he was growing his hair out for the purpose of donating it to a charity that gives hair to cancer survivors.  If that were the case, I was sunk.  There would be no way I would steal a girl from a guy who would grow his hair out for sick people out of sheer principle.  I would simply have to cut and run and NOT hope that Mr. Samaritan Pilot got hit by a bus.

Alas, this was not the case.  The ponytail was “decorative”.

Spring came, and with that, a new batch of classes and new possibilities that Wendy would be trapped in a room with me for maybe 3 to 5 hours a week.  And BINGO, it totally happened!  I hadn’t seen her in maybe a month or two, but I was silently blown away with what walked through the door of our first class.

Wendy had cut her hair.  She didn’t chop it off, but shortened it to just above her shoulders.  Gone was the tight spiral perm she had going down her back and now here she was with a bouncy, wavy, gentle curl that surrounded her face, framing it perfectly in the sickly glow of the fluorescent lighting of the classroom.  She had a smile and head of haircut straight off of the nose of a World War II B-17 bomber.   You could replace this entire paragraph with: VA-VA VOOM!

She sat behind me.  And I made no outward appearance of happiness or surprise.  I hadn’t spoken to her since our brief talk fall quarter and I was going to use that to my advantage.  I calmly squinted my eyes as if trying to recollect a far off memory as I looked at her.

“Uh, wwww-ww, wwwwweh-ww,” people tend to want to help other people when they think they can.

“Wendy? HI! Steve right?” she said with a big friendly smile that I only wanted for myself but she was giving it to everyone in the room!  That meant I wasn’t special, because when everyone gets the smile, that’s the same as no one getting the smile.

“Correct, my name is Steve, this guy next to me is Matt, he’s here to learn,” I said while indicating my table mate, who I later would inform at the end of class that he nor anyone but Wendy would be sitting next to me for the remainder of the course.

“And you AREN’T here to learn?” Wendy said with a funny puzzled look on her face.

“We’ll see,” I deadpanned.

I was always the first into that class and I always set my books next to me as if the second chair at the two person table was taken.  There was no seating chart because communication majors always had a hard time keeping it straight from class to class.  Often I could arrange it so that Wendy would be forced to sit next to me.

One day, Wendy came through the door rather frustrated.  Of course, I had the only open seat next to me so I moved my things.  In the minute before class started, she explained to me that she had all these words on pieces of paper that she had to cut out for a project due in a real class in an hour.  She had planned to use her scissors but had forgotten them or they were stolen or whatever, but she didn’t have them and felt sunk.

I’m not implying that Wendy was not prepared.  She had everything for her presentation ready to go save for these pieces of paper she needed cut.  Wendy has always had far too much on her plate.  Her metaphorical plate looks like my actual plate when I am in a buffet line at a wedding (I put the dinner rolls in my pockets to free up valuable territory for fish or pasta).

She was clearly not going to get this done in time unless a minor miracle occurred.

“What specifically do you need cut?” I asked her.

“These words in the different sized boxes on these sheets of paper, why do you have scissors?” She asked hopefully?

“Not exactly,” I said as I pulled out my perpetually razor sharp Swiss army knife.  Without another word, I put down the drumming magazine I was reading as a pad for the desk and started carefully cutting out each word individually.  All through the lecture I worked, pausing intermittently to show the professor I was paying attention and even answering a question to satisfy his need to know that even as my hands flew across sheets of paper with a tiny, deadly blade, I was paying attention, which I was not.

Wendy was surprised and elated that this was getting done.  As we all got up to leave, Wendy began to thank me.

“Thanks to you and your little knife, I’m going to get this in on time,”

“Don’t mention it.  I have a feeling that if I were in a similar predicament, you’d do the same for me,” and I turned to leave, the old Steve would have hung around wanting more praise, but I needed Wendy to know that I was doing it as a random act and not to try to impress her.

“Can I buy you a new magazine to replace the one you ruined?” She asked before I made it to the door, “You’re a drummer?”

And Matt, the guy I had kicked out of my seat said the best possible thing he could say, “What? Steve doesn’t need that!  Don’t you know what band he’s in?”  Matt had completed the trifecta: Good deed, humble and complimentary and tiny town famous rock star.  Now that I think about it, I should really send him some kind of gift basket.

I had built a solid rapport now and Wendy saw my value less as Subject K311192 for Research Study 790031-C6 and more as a friendly, non-threatening personality around campus.  It was a solid next step and one that I would be able to build trust with.  There would have to be a conscious effort on my part to not act interested in Wendy in any way romantic.  From here on out, I could feel free to approach her as someone I was comfortable saying hello to but making sure that I only spoke to her too briefly.  I had to add something to her life of value, like helpful information or some solid laughter, but I had to cut our interactions shorter than normal to make her wonder why I was leaving so soon.  I had to leave her wanting more of Steve Damm and not hang around her until she got enough Steve Damm or worse, too much Steve Damm.  This requires extreme concentration on my part.  I wouldn’t even approach Wendy if I hadn’t taken my medication.

I was constantly on the lookout for Wendy as I slowly patrolled the campus on my way to classes.  If I saw her, I would run two quick checks in my head before I would act.  Would I be missing a test if I were to ditch class to walk with her a few hundred feet (maximum, remember, no overkill), and am I medicated enough to keep eye contact and my mouth in check.  If I had the correct answers to both questions, I gave myself the green light to approach her, quietly and unassumingly from the front so that she would recognize me first.  The benefit of being on a bike was that if she looked away and missed me as I passed, legitimately, I could quickly loop around and approach again.

(Mom, Dad, I can imagine that you must be disappointed that I cut a few classes to cultivate a relationship with any girl.  I do want you to keep in mind however that if I would have missed ANY of these interactions, you might not have the grandchild you are constantly wanting time with.  Also keep in mind this was a far better reason for me to cut class than when I did it in my Freshmen year to play Street Fighter or my Sophomore year to play Mario Cart.)

These interactions with Wendy on campus were quick hits.  Like a fighter jet strafing a target.  I would ask her unobtrusive questions about herself and comment with a few quick jokes that illustrated that I was listening to her and interested in what she had to say.  As soon as she gave me the big laugh, I was gone.  GONE.  This made her wonder where I went, but even more, WHY did I leave.   This made her a little more eager to talk to me each time we would “accidentally” meet.

The most amazing moment was when I ran into her near my apartment and I wondered why she was there.  She foolishly told me.  As it turns out, she lived across the courtyard from me, not more than a one hundred and fifty foot zip line ride from my door.  Apparently we hadn’t noticed each other because she was working two jobs and getting dual degrees while I had arranged my academic schedule around CHiP’s reruns and gigging with two different bands.  This was going to make the spying and plotting sooooo much more convenient.   It certainly shortened the timeline I had laid out by almost three months.  I immediately leveraged the situation.

Knowing that one of the six majors Wendy was interested in was school psychology, I knew I could gain points by letting her find out that I volunteered with high school leadership camps in the summer.  I hatched a quick plan, watched at my window until I saw her enter her apartment, waited an unbearable twelve minutes and headed up to knock on her door.

“Oh! Hi Steve.  What’s up?” She asked with a friendly, helpful smile.  Typical.

“Wendy, I’m so glad you’re home, I need to ask a huge favor of you and I hope I’m not imposing.” I said with muted, faux desperation.

“Sure! What is it?” she asked.  I knew I wouldn’t be refused.  Even then I knew that Wendy was the type of person who would find a way to hold your car up for you while you changed a tire if you just asked her.

“I’ve been called out of town for a week and I need someone to watch Elmer for me.” I explained as I held out a small potted plant.  “Just set him aside and give him a little water until I get back?”

“Elmer?” she asked as she took the plant.

“Elmer.”

She took him in to her living room and found a space for the plant near the window.  “How much water should I give Elmer?”

“I don’t know,” I said honestly.

“You don’t know?” She asked quizzically.

“Half a cup, two times a week,” I quickly corrected. “Thank you so much, I should be back to pick him up on Sunday of next week.”  I turned to leave, as I could hear her quietly drawing breath to take the bait.

“Wait, where are you going?” Hook.

“Oh right, I’m volunteering for a Washington State student leadership camp for a week.  We teach leadership skills to high school students.  Are you familiar with the program?” Line.

“Yes, yes I am.  Wow, that’s great!  Have you done this often?” SINKER!

I’m pretty sure I had her at the word ‘student’.  “Since high school, I really like the program and it’s a chance for me to… It’s fun, I have fun.”  I had said everything I had planned to say and started back down the stairs thanking Wendy for watching my plant.  I had left her with a personal sentence that I wanted her to wonder why I wouldn’t share or complete.  So now, to Wendy, a person who completes everything on time and leaves no stone unturned there’s this unfinished puzzle.  If I leave enough of them, she will be forced to finish me, and I wouldn’t make it easy.

She watched me go as I headed down her stairs.  I was careful to not expose my left hand, lest she spot the price tag of the plant I had just purchased not 90 minutes before that was still stuck to the back of my thumb after hastily removing the sticky paper at her door.

None of this was a lie.  I really was going to camp and the plant was really mine and I really named it Elmer.  Not an original idea, but effective.

My next interaction with Wendy was during Summer classes.  I had picked up a few courses to bump up my GPA and Wendy didn’t even know the last quarter had ended.

Wendy approached me quickly late one morning as I was arriving back at my apartment from a class.

“Steve! My computer isn’t working and I need to fix and print off a paper before my class in two hours.  Do you have a computer?”

I sure did, and she sure could if it wasn’t located in my apartment.  For although I had built up a tolerance and immunity to the conditions in which I lived, my apartment was not at that moment in time, safe for humans.

“No problem, just give me ten minutes and I’ll get my computer up and running, then you can come on over,” I said as a bead of sweat began to form on my forehead.

“Oh, it will take me at least that long before I have all my materials together, that sounds great.” She said as she began walking to her place.

I was maybe 90 feet from my door and although I knew I was wasting precious seconds by walking the distance and not sprinting, it had to be done to keep the charade up.  The charade being that I’m capable of taking care of myself on even a basic level.

I shut the door gently behind me as I surveyed my apartment and how I would make it slightly presentable.  Fire was the most practical approach, but there wouldn’t be time to dry and sweep the ashes out.  I concentrated on what would be “line of sight” between the front door and the computer in my bedroom.

I threw away things that I shouldn’t have thrown away.  I jammed my closet full in a way only possible in cartoons.  I hid things behind my shower curtain in the bathtub and remembered how to clean a toilet.  Clutter was removed with little discrimination and replaced with fanned books and magazines.  I found my vacuum cleaner and pushed it to its limits.  The kitchen was wiped and the floor cleared.  Anything in the stove went in the cupboard and anything in the sink went in the stove.  I just had to take my chances on the fridge staying closed.  For the finishing touch I found an old bottle of lemon pledge that had been left there by tenants before me and sprayed an invisible trail of citrus from my front door in to my computer into the carpet.

Sweaty and gross, I answered the door and quickly pointed Wendy to the computer.  She told me it smelled nice in the apartment and I thanked her.  By golly, it worked.  As long as Wendy didn’t open a drawer, closet or shower curtain, the subterfuge would hold!

I had her in my apartment and she was going to stay for at least an hour, so I did the smartest thing I could have done.  I left.

Explaining that I had an appointment, I grabbed my bike and my backpack and I went down to my friend’s place two buildings over to scream into a pillow that the most amazing girl ever was in my apartment.  If I had stayed even one more minute, I would have said something that could not be unsaid.  Plus, I had to remain the unsolved puzzle.

Upon returning, I found a note thanking me for the use of my printer with her phone number attached in a friendly way offering if I ever needed to be bailed out, please call her.  But it turned out that I didn’t need to use it.

To be concluded in Part Three of The Time I Outsmarted My Wife

In Part Three of our story, you’ll see the noose close, witness the splendor of a plan completed and learn what it takes to write a really good love song…