Twas the eve of the King’s Ball, a night of great distinction for knights and ladies of famous accomplishment (seriously nerdy crowd), that I first cast my eye upon him. I entered in the company of a true hero and dear friend, Sir Gareth, (aka GT the totally legendary dude) and we parted ways upon discarding our cloaks, being ushered therein to converse with the abundant dukes and princesses (GT had his eyes out for some chick).
A scholarly man in close relation to the King himself (or the Director of Alumni Relations, but really whatever you want to say) engaged me then in high-minded ideas (gossip) and we did incur much delight. But hark! From yonder came a youth of exceeding beauty (hottie). He did approach with great gentle attitude and tender smile (barged right into the middle of things) and my friend thought well that we should meet and know one another. And so we met, but promptly after, I departed for ladies do not linger (whoa, feeling awkward: exit strategy).
Only later did I build courage (drink enough wine) to inquire as to his family and place (who is that bro?) and my dearest Prince Truck informed me of his wealth of talent. He was indeed a scribe of the kingdom (reporter for the New York Times) and I thought this perfectly significant (sexy).
Much anon, he drew near in the midst of a crowd wherein I spun a tale of courage undaunted (bragged my face off). His closeness did cause crimson to rush in my cheeks (I gave him the sexy eyes), and I made haste to depart in the good company of Prince Truck.
Hardly could I contain my curiosity and I begged the dear prince to recount what he knew of the scribe (scoffing, I declared; whatever, I’m sure he’s a player). Prince Truck is a wise man (he saw right through me) and recognized at once my secret torment. But rash as men be, he did recommend a meeting (offered to set us up in a minute) and I, by my honor, refused so blundering a method (said hell no – I don’t date players).
Yet then, upon my homecoming, what should I encounter but a note writ in the sweet hand of my fair scribe (a Facebook message). He bade me well and made sweet mention of our meeting, but did no dishonor to my good name (it was a seriously boring message). My heart was cast and caught.
On the morrow, I wrote a letter in return and so did we enter into happy love (I mean, we dated for awhile and that was cool).
For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, Bewildered Bug challenged me with “Write a memoir on how you met your significant other or best friend, but write it as if it were set in medieval times,” and I challenged Carrie with “write a piece in first person that does not mention but clearly implies a sunset, a can of beans, and a fire.”