My mother's mother, Gammie, was my favorite person. Considering how much I moved around when I was young, I came to consider her my rock and her house my home.
Gammie had a heart episode at the beginning of my senior year of high school and she could no longer live alone. Unfortunately, the retirement home she wanted to go to, where her friends had gone once they needed help, didn't have an opening. She came to live with us for a few months until a spot opened up. As she needed someone to keep an eye on her, we became roomies. Sure, I was a seventeen year old senior, but I was a-okay with that. I loved my Gammie.
In college, I'd visit Gammie at the retirement home about once a month. We'd hang out, go out to eat, and watch movies. As far as I was concerned, it was great.
From Gammie's perspective though, I think she was worried about her youngest grandson. Yes, I was dutiful and a good kid, but I wasn't quite normal. She became quite concerned about my dating life...or lack thereof.
Our phone conversations and visits began to focus on me and girls. Because, objectively, it's a good sign when a grandmother becomes slightly obsessed with fixing her grandson's love life.
Gammie would tell me about all the granddaughters of her friends. If she saw a girl in the supermarket, she'd tell me about it. If she laid eyes on anyone with two X chromosomes who was 15-25 years old, I heard all about it. As a nineteen year old sophomore, it was by turns amusing, endearing, annoying, and mortifying.
One weekend, when I called to let her know I was on my way, she told me to bring a coat and tie "in case (I) needed it." I was a bit suspicious, but complied.
When I arrived two hours later, Gammie fussed at me, "You're late! And you're not wearing your coat and tie!"
"Huh? What?"
"You've got a date in fifteen minutes!"
Yup. That's right. I was not on the path to marriage and babies fast enough for her tastes. My grandmother, the general's wife, had commandeered my dating life.
I didn't fight her because there was no fighting her. Some poor woman had been guilted by an adorable old lady into suffering through a pity date with her loser grandson. It wasn't right to stand her up, even though I was embarrassed. I went into the bathroom and changed.
When I came out of the bathroom, I discovered Gammie at the door, picking out which purse she was going to bring. I stopped dead in my tracks. I didn't say a word. I stared at her.
"Don't just stand there," she barked. "Let's go."
So. Not only had my grandmother set me up on a blind date, she was coming along to supervise.
There was nothing I could do. This was a full-on train wreck. Objectively, I had to follow through with it, just out of perverse curiosity. It was good that I had that perspective because if I didn't stay detached and somewhat bemused, I'd die of shame.
Anyway, there was no way it could get worse.
So I thought.
Boy, was I wrong.
On the way, as I drove, Gammie filled me in on my date. Was she a pretty nurse? No. A gorgeous heiress granddaughter of one of her rich friends? No. It was a high school sophomore, a sixteen year old, that Gammie met and decided was "perfect for (me)" because the girl spent her Thursday nights volunteering at the retirement home, reading to the elderly.
Now, while I may not have been a catch (after all, I was a nineteen year old who occasionally spent weekends hanging out with his grandmother), at least when I wasn't doing that I was fairly normal (ie drunk). I certainly wasn't some lame goody-two-shoes.
We got to the restaurant. The girl was there. She was plain.
The table was only big enough for two. No matter. Gammie ordered the waiter to bring her a chair and she sat between us, which was the perfect place for her.
No, she was not there to observe the proceedings. She'd taken charge. She was running the show.
She played conversation referee to ensure I didn't mess up and make things awkward.
"So, (Kid), where are you going to school?"
"Blahblah High!"
"And where do you plan to matriculate?"
"I don't know! I'm just a soft-headed child!"
Instead of volleying back and forth, she decided it was best she speak for me.
"Ajax is a sophomore at the University of South Carolina. His course of study is Classics. His likes are camping and hugs and smiles. His dislikes are vulgar people, jazz, and other 'ethnic' music. His turn-ons are anything you do. And, please, dear God, I beg of you, please make him a man! He can't be gay!"
Okay, she may not have said that exactly, but whatever she did say was nearly as bad.
The whole meal was like that. I inhaled my food and stole food from Gammie's plate, pretending that I just had to try a bite (giant's mouthful) of whatever she had on her plate to speed things along.
Finally, we were finished. As we were all walking out of the restaurant together, for reasons known only to herself and God (though I'm willing to bet abject pity played a part), the girl asked me if I wanted to join her and her friends. They were meeting up to play board games.
Gammie immediately answered for me, "OH! HE'D LOVE TO..."
I cut her off.
"...But," I interrupted, "I have a very early morning and have to turn in."
"Oh! Okay then!" the girl said brightly without giving it a thought.
Gammie gave me a disappointed look.
On the ride back to her place, Gammie explained that I blew it and the girl really liked me.
I took my lumps.
That was the last time Gammie interfered in my love life, but she would often mention the "one (I) let get away."
My mother, evil harpy, if I annoyed her when we were around Gammie, or if she simply wanted to torment me, would loudly ask, "What ever happened to that lovely girl Gammie set you up with?"
Then she'd devilishly grin as Gammie exasperatingly recounted, in minute detail, how I'd blown it.
Sigh...
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