Amy Poppinga

So I’m single. It happens. It also happens that my friends are tricky little devils who think my life needs a little spice. Their secret recipe? A night with a little food, a lot of waiter and one evil plan.

It was a beautiful South Dakota day. The temperature was above average, the sun was shining and the wind was gently whispering the joys of the day. As for myself, I had an extra spring in my step and a couple extra pumps of extra strength gel in my hair. I’m not going to lie-I was feeling AND looking good.

Therefore, it was no surprise when the waiter at the restaurant where my friends and I were eating got a little friendly. Actually, he was probably just a little flirty so that I’d give him a better tip, but my friends thought his actions were enough to warrant an action of their own-leaving my phone number.

To most people, this might seem to be harmless and maybe even a little fun and exotic. I was mortified. Never had I left my number for some stranger. What if he was a stalker or an axe murderer or a leotard-wearing folk singer masquerading as a waiter? You just never know.

So I’m a little overdramatic; it happens. If you understood my family, though, you would understand why I was not willing to leave my number for a folk-singing waiter. My mother is a wonderful lady, but I think she wants me to become a nun. (We aren’t Catholic.) If she could have had it her way, I would have worn a 10-piece suit to prom or at least a hideously oversized cardigan over my prom dress.

As for my dad, I don’t think he wants me to be a nun. I think he is anxiously awaiting the day I bring home a boy, because I think he sits up late every night, plotting and planning all the terrible things he will do to the poor boy. Best case scenario-he will be cleaning his rifle while demanding that the boy recite the books of the Bible sequentially, alphabetically, chronologically and every other -ly he can think of.

So my mom believes in modesty, whereas my dad is, well, crazy. Therefore, the conditions just aren’t right for me to pick up a random guy who’ll show up to Thanksgiving wearing a leopard leotard, singing holiday tunes John Denver style.

This realization made me do everything in my power to recover the cursed coaster that held my number, but my tricky little devil friends foiled me again. They decided to hand the coaster directly to the waiter, resulting in a scene comparable to a six-year-old (my romantic maturity) throwing a small tantrum.

After I was done stomping and screaming? just kidding. After we left the restaurant, my friends and I headed to the mall.

Periodically they would ask if he had called yet, but thankfully, the answer was always no. I thought I was safe.

Suddenly my phone started receiving a call from an unidentified caller. Afraid of the repercussions, I refused to answer. But the resilient and slightly annoying caller kept calling me and then hanging up after about five seconds.

Still refusing to answer, I handed the phone to one of my guy friends, who was supposed to tell the caller off. Nope. My friend started chatting it up with the caller like they were chums back in kindergarten.

As the call progressed, the caller seemed to be getting more and more anxious to talk to me. I didn’t want to talk to the caller so I deferred the phone to a new friend each time.

A promise of dessert finally got my attention. I thought this a little odd since I’d already eaten the chocolate cake that the waiter had recommended, but I’m not one to turn down dessert. I’d give anyone a chance if they had enough food!

So I answered my phone only to hear a faint voice on the other end. We briefly exchanged greetings when I began to realize that the voice seemed a little too close. I looked up to see my friends convulsing with laughter, and one of them was talking on a phone.

It was my friends the whole time. Looking back, I feel a little stupid and ridiculous for making such a big deal of the call, but most of all, I feel that those tricky little devils owe me one. That one can be a doughnut, cookie or roast beef dinner. I’d forgive anyone if they had enough processed meats.