What Spontaneity Gets You

My little brother just came by to drop off today's paperwork. I said to him, "Guess what crazy thing I did last night?"
His guess: "Drugs?"
Then he laughed, of course. I am a D.A.R.E. graduate, and never been tempted by the stuff, by way of disclaimer.
So, no, it wasn't drugs, but still rather crazy.
First, let me state the obvious: I'm pretty rigid when it comes to a lot of things. I like to make lists. I especially like crossing things off my lists. I budget. I don't buy things I can't afford-- like my late vacation. If I hadn't had the money to pay for it, I wouldn't have gone. I like to obey the law (though I've turned into a terrible speeder). I don't think I'm boring or set in my ways, but I've got my routines, and they work for me. Sometimes I try to mix things up and go white-water rafting (which is probably not the best choice because I can't swim) or take a harmonica class. I like taking the road less traveled, but even that is kind of according to a pattern. I'm polite and like to take care of little old people. I open doors for women with arms full of groceries or children (because the men I see rarely do) and give up my seat on a bus or a train. I'm happiest when I can pay it forward and do something nice. It's a lifestyle I'm rather content with.
However, every once in a while, I go and do something remarkable odd. I can't explain it. It's not calculated. It's impulsive, and I don't really think out the consequences. Or even if I do, I suddenly decide I don't care. Sometimes I care the next day, but it's usually good for such a laugh that I figure it doesn't matter in the scheme of things.
So what did I do?
Yesterday I was in Albuquerque, taking care of Zoey and running errands. We'd had a long day of highs and lows (low: she hated the Easter Bunny; high: she loved the mall carousel), and in the midst of all the demands of the day, I'd forgotten to buy Molly's chicken. Remember how I'm taking care of my parents' dog? My mom feeds dear Molly chicken breast for nearly every meal, and she's running out. So on my way to choir last night, I made a second stop at Sam's to pick up some Tyson's, and that's when the trouble began.
Remember how I've written about the attractive cashier? Sadly, he wasn't there. So I picked another line and figured I'd gaze on his loveliness the next time I had occasion to buy paper towels in bulk.
My new and equally charming young cashier asked me how my evening was going. I replied that it was actually my second trip to Sam's Club that day. He said, "Oh really? You must really love us."
What I should have said was, "Actually, I just forgot to buy the chicken."
That's what I should have said.
What I actually said was, "You know, funny you should mention that. Do you know that guy Adrian who works here?"
And the cashier (whose name I think was Michael-- I can't remember, so that's what we'll call him) said, "Oh yeah. He's my cousin."
And I said, "Is he single by any chance? I have the biggest crush on him."
In the typical dude way, Michael looked stunned that I'd think his cousin was particularly attractive, but he said yes, A is single.
And I, the rambling fool, went charging on.
"It's too bad he isn't here. I just love going to his line. I was really hoping I could talk to him. In fact, if things had gone well, I would have offered him a ticket to a basketball game I'm going to on Friday."
Shut up, shut up, shut up! Where is my brain?
Long story short, I did end up giving Cousin Michael the ticket to deliver. I put my name and email address on it. The lady behind me in line laughed and laughed at my supposed gumption.
As I walked out of Sam's to my car, I realized a few things:
1) I'm sure I seem like a stalker.
2) I'm sure Adrian wouldn't have the slightest clue who I am, and when his cousin describes me, he'll likely say, "Yeah, she's kinda weird looking."
3) Adrian may get a restraining order.
4) If by some miracle he were to come to the game with me and the friends, I imagine I'd be embarrassed the whole time.
5) If he were not to respond at all, I'll likely have to only shop at the other area Sam's Clubs or Costco. Thank goodness I have a Costco membership.
6) This is what people who are without friends do. In an attempt to fill the void, we suddenly find ourselves taking desperate measures so we won't have to have another weekend of loneliness.
Boo.
I feel like a nut job. Still, this is kind of how I got to be friends with Chevron. And we all know how that turned out.