Yesterday, I went to Church. You see, I don't really tend to go- maybe seven or eight times a year? I can't quite remember, but either way, it's not very frequently. Nope... the whole reason I went to Church was because I was doing a good deed and playing the part (on paper at least) of the loving, doting granddaughter to a rapidly ageing Grandmother (my Grandma AKA Gma, in case you're wondering. I didn't just pick some random old lady off the street and fob her off as my relative, although that may be what I do next time Gma asks me to do her a favour).
Now, the reason I occasionally venture out on a Sunday morning, choosing to fore go the obligatory lie-in, is so that I can take Gma to Church. She stopped driving twelve years ago when a bird flew (and consequently crash landed) on her windscreen. I was in the car with her and remember it well. Instead of continuing to the supermarket, I (yes me, Mildred), had to leave the safety of the car and retrieve the very still bird as Gma hastened to the vet's. Unfortunately, the cute old chap (the vet, in case you're wondering) said there was nothing that could be done and that the kindest thing to do was to put little Tom Cruise out of his misery. (We named him Tom Cruise because he liked to do crazy stunt work, though the real TC probably had a stunt double, but our little dude didn't and it cost him dearly).
Gma and I were both quite upset, but the vet said that Tom was getting on in years and that it was an inevitability really; apparently, he'd developed cataracts, so was virtually blind. The vet said we were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. I think though, because Gma was driving the car, she felt a terrible sense of responsibility. The vet-dude asked Gma how fast she'd been driving and she told him 36 m.p.h. 'In what zone?' he asked. 'In a 60 m.p.h. zone,' I replied on Gma's behalf, thinking to myself that that explains all the beeping, overtaking and occasional use of bad language from fellow road users. 'Ah,' he said. 'Therein lies the problem. If you had been going a tad faster, Mr Cruise would not have collided with your vehicle and would probably have been with us for at least another 5 minutes, before he would have met his untimely demise.'
Understandably, Gma was distraught. When we left the vets, we went round the supermarket in a daze. There, Gma swore that she would never drive again (although, this wasn't quite accurate as she still had to drive me home, and then back to her house. When she got home, that was when she technically stopped driving). The next day, the car was in the paper for sale.
So, that is one of the reasons that I went to Church. Usually, Mum takes Gma, but sometimes- not very often, she has to work a Sunday morning and the driving of Gma falls to me. The other reason I take Gma to Church is because she's never let me forget about our date with little cataract Tom. Apparently, it is partially my fault, because if I'd have been ready five minutes earlier, we'd never have met him. But I always argue that if Gma had been going the right speed... but I never get any further than that because Gma shoots me one of those looks that quite clearly states: 'THIN ICE- proceed with caution'.
Anyway, I went to Church and did the Churchly things with Gma and was presently surprised by the morning.
There was this little boy who was being baptised- he must've been about four or somewhere around that mark I'm guessing, because as the vicar was sorting out his microphone at the start of the service as it kept making those funny screeching sounds, this little boy- I think his name was Tommy (funnily enough), went up to him. Tommy then tugged his robes and this squeaky little voice said: 'I know you Mister. You were at my house last night, Mister.' Naturally, the vicar was evidently not used to being addressed as 'Mister' by some miniature human in a suit and was a bit flummoxed. However, after his composure had been regained, the service continued and then, when little Tommy (the person, not the bird), came to be baptised, he turned around afterwards and said in his squeaky manner: 'Thanks Mister, nice one.' Trust me, it was funny.
During the sermon I naturally let my mind wonder as I arranged my face into what I thought looked like an I'm-finding-this-a-very-profound-experience kind of expression. As my eyes drifted around the Church, I noticed something I'd never seen before. Sat at the organ was the most handsome man I have ever seen. He had dark wavy hair and bluey-green eyes and looked very tall, yet rugged as there was a slight hint of intentional (I think) manly stubble around his jaw. WOWZA, I thought, as I was gazing into the distance at Prince Charming, as well as gazing into our distant future together.
And then, just as I was beginning to wonder what his surname was and if it would match my name, Gma elbowed me in the ribs because apparently I was swooning aloud, though I have no recollection of this. Then, she promptly reminded me where the loo's were, evidently mistaking my I'm-finding-this-a-very-profound-experience expression as an I-really-need-the-toilet one instead. Oh dear, not good.
After the service had finished, Gma decided to take matters into her own hands and interfere in my non-existent love life. Usually, I would object, but if truth be told, I was in no position to be turning down a bit of assistance in that area.
So, Gma strode up confidently to the music man and said rather loudly and matter-of-factly, 'Raymond, there's someone I'd like you to meet.' And then our eyes met and time stood still. He shook my hand and said 'hi' in a very masculine kind-of way. Silently I smiled, as I had evidently forgotten my name and how to speak, but also because I was captivated by his handsomeness up close.
Gma rolled her eyes and then proceeded to explain to Raymond that I was single and had been for quite some time; that I was 26, so pushing on in years; that the reason she suspected I was single was because I bought my pyjama's from Marks and Spencer and because I like Harry Potter; that I still lived at home and that she wanted to start the ball rolling so that she could have some great-grandchildren sooner rather than later.
Yet more silence on my part.
What do you say to that? Thanks Gma. Note: I am being ironic here.
But then, as Raymond was trying to digest all this information and work out if he should be running away, Gma pounced on him before he could get a word in edge ways. Before long, I learnt that Raymond was single (hurrah), that he had his own flat (very nice) and that he was 25- to which Gma turned around and said: 'Oh isn't that wonderful Mildred, you could have a toyboy!'
Blushing profusely, I glanced at Raymond who looked rather amused by the situation. Honestly Gma, I was recently thinking that honesty may have been the best policy, but now I'm not so sure.
As I looked away from Raymond, I looked skywards and silently asked God why he was punishing me. I do wonder if it's because I attend Church so infrequently, or if He just thought I needed to be punished. But to my utter astonishment, when Gma went away, Raymond and I got talking and then, he asked me out on a date! Can you believe that?! I certainly couldn't.
As I sat and waited while Gma had her coffee, I wondered if I had learnt any morals after my jaunt to the Church? Why yes, I had.
- Use an outspoken grandmother (ideally your own, but one with a good reputation borrowed from a friend will do), to get you a date. It works because your potential date can't possibly say no to an old lady, especially when they 'accidentally' let slip the old trump card: 'I don't know how much time I've got left, so...'.
- If using the above to assist in your love-life, always, always, always make sure that they only ever share the endearing information about you with potential dates and not the secret stuff that they should never know. It will spare your blushes.
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