Today, I'm tackling Prompt #3: Tell us about your crush.
As many of you know, The Scribe Family hails from Our Nation's Capital, more or less. Yes, we lived in the City for 12 years, before decamping to the slightly calmer 'burbs, but one constant remains: If you live in Metropolitan DC, you live to see~or be seen.
I'd hate to say my kith & kin are jaded, but they are. Seriously. Ella Numera Una sat near a Backstreet Boy on a flight back home last Christmas. Ella Numera Dos tapped a large, cute guy on the shoulder at a concert last summer...turned out to be Chris Cooley, a wide receiver for the Washington Redskins.
And I'm the one who ran into Princess Di & Prince Charles one sunny afternoon outside the Library of Congress. And yes, she was blindingly beautiful. Off the charts. Her homely hubby? Not so much.
Well, Mrs. Scribe has her own crush. Specifically, 2 crushes. Both were football boys. One went on to be a philanthropist. The other practiced philanthropy thru a lifetime in the US Senate.
Several times a month, former Washington Redskins defensive end Charles Mann & I meet for coffee at a local Starbucks. I'm usually on my way to work; he apparently uses this neighborhood Bux to do a little work for his Good Samaritan Foundation, which is in the biz of helping underprivileged young people.
I say "apparently," because Charles, as I like to call him, doesn't~excuse the cliché~know I exist. But we're bonding. I can feel it.
One morning, several years ago, I turned away from the counter after purchasing my regular~decaf grande skim latte~and I bumped into this sweet looking guy. And tall. And gorgeous. He apologized for getting in my way. I wanted to tell him he could get in my way any time he wanted to.
I ran into him several times that summer. I knew I knew who he was~I recognized the boyish face, the velvet voice, the yummy bod. The first week of school that year, I hit on it.
I'd been pining the summer away for Charles Mann. Good ol' Number 71.
My crush has continued for going on 8 or 9 years. I always hit the doors of my local Bux between 6:20 & 6:40 a.m. Teacher's hours, you know. He usually strolls in about 6:45; on weekends, around 9:30. He doesn't know me, but I know him. Some day I might introduce myself. But for now, I'll just drool long-distance.
Teddy Kennedy was the best-looking Kennedy boy. Don't let anyone tell you any differently. And since the death of "The Lion of the Senate" late Tuesday nite, I keep thinking back to the first time I laid eyes on the senior Senator from Massachusetts. The memory still makes my heart race.
I was recently up from Texas. A rube, really, who didn't know Bullfeathers from the local burrito joint. I was suffering thru my first DC December~which to a Dallas gal is a pretty big deal. I was also incredibly frustrated with DC's transportation grid. The teeny-tiny signs, the stoplights on the funny little poles on the right-hand side of narrow little cobblestoned streets. Let's just say I wasn't a fan of the weird way Pierre L'Enfant designed this city, with the streets radiating from the Capitol.
Like many transplants before me, I kept getting lost & ending up in the Pentagon parking lot.
One afternoon after a long shopping trip to the 'burbs, I turned toward my home on C Street SE. Not to belabor DC's out-of-control lettering/numbering system~which could only make sense to a bureaucrat~but I ended up on H Street NE, behind Union Station. I headed toward a Texaco to get my bearings & some guidance, and who did I see, pumping his own gas?
Cue the sound effects, please. Serious screech of brakes. Wheels spinning on their rims as Mrs. Scribe flips a U-turn in the middle of a busy throroughfare. Squeak of automatic windows rolling down at the speed of sound.
I think I even hollered. Something classy, like, "Hey, you're Teddy Kennedy!"
I'd like to say that Senator Kennedy gave me directions back to my crib. But by the time I pulled up at the pump, he had already capped his tank, climbed up in the seat of his SUV, and peeled out of there. But I got a really good look. This was the era of the trim physique, the salt-and-pepper hair, the senatorial bearing.
I forgave him his trespasses. Right then, right there. Did I mention he was the best-looking Kennedy boy?
OK, now we're into the "bling" part of our program. Amy, who blogs over at 
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