And then the note got passed

Yesterday, the Boy and I volunteered to help clean up the yard (note to self - if I get to the point where I have more than one abandoned vehicle on my property, it's time to move, or set fire to things) of an elderly couple who worship with us at church.  It was an absolutely gorgeous fall day and a good way to spend a few hours on a Saturday morning.  While we were driving home, the Boy asked me a few things about college life and I got to reminiscing about how I would go back to those days in a heartbeat.  I loved every minute of my college experience and regretted nothing.  Except the following:

Living in what was then known as 'Condo Row' (today it qualifies as a tenement) in Provo, we'd gotten very tight with our neighbors.  One of them, a cool girl from Salt Lake City, had made the decision to go on a mission and so a slew of us, including my roommates and the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML, drove up to SLC for her farewell.  Now this was back in the day when the farewell was a two day affair (open house the night before, farewell talk the next day, and another open house after that).  We decided, as I recall to only show up for the farewell.

So here we were at a chapel in SLC, a slew of young twenty-somethings, assembled to hear our friend speak about the experience upon which she was about to embark.  Now you have to remember that when my roomates, A. and M. and I got together, typically there was a lot of laughter, some tears, and somebody walked away offended (I give you the audience of a late showing of "A Fish Called Wanda" in Orem, UT who stormed out because of our laughter as evidence).  Anyway, as I recall, the mighty fine SML was seated next to me as a buffer (little did she know that it was during this meeting that the 'stunningly patient' title would be born) between the three of us.  Shortly before the meeting started a woman and her daughter sat down in front of us.  The daughter was adult-aged but clearly was developmentally disabled.  Because the three of us were idiots, this would prove our undoing.

As the meeting began and progressed, the young lady in front of us began to make guttural throat clearing noises.  As the meeting progressed, the noises grew louder and, well, chunkier.  As I noted earlier, because the three of us were young idiots, we started snickering about what was going on.  The mighty fine SML shot more than a couple of disapproving glares, as did a couple of the other girls that were with us.  However, we were not to be deterred.

In timing that Hollywood could not have scripted, three things converged at once: our friend was hitting the spiritual acme of her talk, the girl in front of us reached thunderous heights with her snorting, and M. passed the following note to A. and I:

Do you want a fork with that?

We tried to not laugh audibly.  We could only stifle the laughter by what must have looked as though we were have full-body seizures.  I can't recall who finally lost it first but one of us did and the laughter was loud and noticeable.  And it also became uncontrollable.  In what I'm sure was a flash but felt like an eternity, the three of us stumbled over those seated next to us, like three people fighting to escape a fire in a theater, to get out of the chapel.  We could not have been more obvious.  Or awful.  Really, truly awful.

I'm the first to admit that it took us awhile to stop laughing once we got outside. We wisely chose not to go to the open house after the meeting ended. Besides, I was getting a flight to Dallas that afternoon anyway.  That was probably a good thing.  To say that the mighty fine SML was displeased was an understatement.  Yet somehow, she managed to find it in her heart to forgive me and still marry me.  This would not be the first time she'd have to endure my poor judgement.  Hence, the 'stunningly patient' title.

I really do regret this one.  It really was bad form on our part to be laughing at this girl (good grief, it's not like we were a bunch of 5th grade boys...or were we?).  I feel bad about the farewell and the ruckus we created.  So, Sister JF, if you read this, I'm sorry.  Really sorry.

However, is it bad to admit that nearly every time I see a fork, that darn note still comes to mind?  Thanks, M.  You played that one well.