Farmer’s Fairytale Chapter 2

I metaphorically slapped myself in the face trying to wake up from the hypnosis I was in.  As we approached each other the salesman introduced me and I was suddenly feeling severely frumpy in my oversized quarter-zip grey pullover I threw on that day.  I only had about 100 better clothing options in my closet. I reached out my hand to shake steel blue’s when he suddenly pulled back.  Did I forget to put on deodorant that day? Wouldn’t be the first time. That’s why I always kept a spare in the center console of my truck.  I tried to take a quick sniff but stopped myself because it would’ve been too obvious. 

Then he shyly said, “I’m sorry, my hands are a little greasy. I’ve been switching heads on the combine.”  I remember a little girly giggle escaping from me and I even surprised myself when I said, “I don’t care” and grabbed his rough, strong, calloused, and very greasy hand for a shake.  Wiping my now greasy hand on my jeans I heard him say, “I’m Josh.”  Easy, I can remember that one.  I mumbled some garbage about my name and how I have two first names and it’s weird and “blame my parents” or something like that, I don’t remember exactly because I was cheesing so much it’s a wonder words actually came out of my mouth.  I think I might’ve even blacked out for a minute. 

STOP IT, Mary Pat. I remember telling myself.  Farmers never wear their wedding rings. It is NOT okay for you to be eyeing up this handsome hunk of man meat when there’s a 99.9% chance he’s already taken.  I mean, who wouldn’t go for him? His arms are, well, wowza… The arms of a hard-working farmer who has to wrench on tractors all day, and they’re attached to two of the broadest shoulders I’ve ever seen.  He’s tall.  Definitely over 6’2”, maybe taller.  

And that Hoyt hat. He must be a bowhunter.  Something we have in common.   I wonder if he’s shot a big buck before.  I wonder if he’d take me with him sometime.   I wonder if our babies will have his blue eyes or my brown ones.  MY GOODNESS SNAP OUT OF IT!  You’re moving home in a month, I told myself. 

He was so eloquent when we were talking.  Asking questions most farmers didn’t ask.  I mean, most farmers were more annoyed to see me, a girl, on their farm, wondering what the heck I knew about seed that they didn’t know already.  I needed to prove myself before I’d get their respect and have them ask me questions.  Not, Josh.  He seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say. 

I don’t remember exactly what we talked about because I was still mesmerized by those eyes and in a dizzy love-struck daze.  Then, his dad walked up and I snapped myself out of it.  Be an adult, Mary Pat.  I went on to tell them the top hybrids we had that performed in their area.  They challenged me, asked me why our hybrids weren’t in their First Trial.  What the heck was that?  I told them they should just give it a whirl and we’d get them some local plot results.  I always tried joking and smooth-talking, a typical salesperson…typical 7 on the enneagram.  They seemed inquisitive and interested. I left them a seed guide. Most people didn’t even want me to do that.  So, I thought… “oh, we’ve got this in the bag”.  They’re definitely going to want to try some seed. No doubt.  Or at least put it in their plot.  Maybe we could get a pro box in there.  We had a shot, I thought.

Before we left, I remember making a sly comment about his Hoyt hat and explaining that I’m a Matthews archery girl.  We talked a little about where I grew up, in the hills of Wisconsin on my family’s dairy farm, and how there’s obviously much bigger deer up there than anything he’d see around here in Illinois.  He smirked and I melted into a puddle of warm pudding on a summer’s day.  

We parted ways, I thought, man I’ll probably never see this guy again. I was planning to move back home in a month, I wasn’t sure I’d make it down this way again before I left.  But it was nice to stare into those baby blues for a short five minutes.  We slowly rolled out of their driveway and I daydreamed about our blonde-haired blue-eyed babies for another 60 seconds until their farm and towering grain bins faded in the rearview mirror.  Have a great life Josh, I thought.  And we rolled on. 

I was ready to be out of that old Ford truck.  This guy drives soooooo slllowwww I thought as we were rolling down the 2-lane Illinois highway north towards the state line.  I was looking out the window at the fields of corn and soybeans yet to be harvested and daydreaming about the m&m’s and Gossip Girl waiting for me back at my stinky old apartment.  Seemed to be a little more enticing than making small talk with this guy in the passenger’s seat of his old white sales truck.  

But I bucked up, encouraging him that I thought it went well.  Those Sass people were really nice, you should definitely keep calling on them.  But really I didn’t care much about the follow-up because remember, I’m moving home in a month. 

Then, I felt it.  My phone buzzed in my pocket. I casually grabbed it out to escape somewhere other than the cab of the truck when I saw it, a  notification from Facebook.  Josh Sass has sent you a friend request.