Carrie Scarborough Kinnard - From the Grit Comes a Pearl: A Southern Womans Imperfect Faith in Her God, in Herself, and in Her Humorous, Unique Outlook on Lifes Stumbling Blocks

For my husband, Keith.

Who will forever be my greatest blessing.

Song of Solomon 3:4

For I have found the one whom my soul loves.

From the Grit Comes a Pearl

by Carrie Scarborough Kinnard

Copyright 2020 Carrie Scarborough Kinnard

ISBN 978-1-64663-198-8

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any meanselectronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any otherexcept for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior written permission of the author.

REVIEW COPY: This is an advanced printing subject to corrections and revisions.

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CHAPTER 1

IF ON THAT FIRST DATE,TOILET PAPER CROSSES YOUR MIND... HE AINT THE ONE.

Y ou see, he was cute.

Quite possibly the cutest boy in the world.

Okay, well... he was cute in his pictures. The two pictures he posted online. Two. Only two. But he was cute.

Online. A word that makes me cringe. But its how we met.

Was this really a chance I wanted to take? And at my age?

At forty-three years old, I really felt I was too old to do anything online, much less, uh... date.

And I never wanted to say, Meet my husband. We met online.

Years later, I still cringe at saying the words, We met online.

I mean, in those last nine years of being single, Id always felt the best part of a relationship was probably the very beginning. You know, when you hadnt met yet and youre still single.

You heard me. When you hadnt met yet and youre still single.

Ill admit, I also never wanted to say, Oh, we met at a bar. Or at a wedding. Or the produce aisle. Or, Heaven forbid, church. Because thats too hip. Too young. Too not me. And I dont know why because everybodys doing it. But if everybody was jumping off a cliff, I can assure you, I wouldnt be surveying just how far the drop was.

Or, apparently, it seems now? I would be.

Meeting a man for the first time in person who you met online feels a lot like Lets Make a Deal . The old version. Monty Halls version. Monty tells you to pick door one, door two, or door three. Then you close your eyes. Scrunch your face up a bit. Kinda maybe hold your breath a little. Clinch your fists in front of you. Squint a peek through one scrunched-up kinda closed eye. Hope to God the deal behind the door you pick... is at the very least... cute. Say a quick prayer before the curtain rises. Pray he has teeth. And a job. And no wife. And he looks somewhat like the pictures he sent you. A little like the pictures. Kinda like the pictures. Okay, just pray he has a head.

Anyway, in our first emails, we traded pleasantries. Typical stupid stuff. How long we each lived in the area. What we did for a living. Whether we had friends and how many. Any kids bleeding us dry? Boring. Blah. But necessary.

The second emails were just as nice. Easy. No inappropriate questions. No mention of the word boobs. Or sex.

But a very unexpected bomb was dropped. And that bomb was dropped on the very last few lines of his second email to me. This was a man I had not spoken to on the phone. A man I had only traded one, working on a second, email with. A man who I knew very little about. And this was how he decides to end his second email to me?

Well, I am going to go out on a limb here and ask if your schedule would allow you to accompany me to dinner or drinks this weekend. You dont have to call it a date. Just two adults meeting to have dinner or drinks together. I am open Friday or Saturday evening. My daughter will be spending the weekend with friends, so I am seizing the opportunity to be Keith and not just Dad. I will keep my fingers crossed and hope I havent scared you off.

BOOM.

What the what? A date? Are you kidding me, dude? Wed traded a few words electronically and youre pretty much proposing! Whatever happened to boring phone calls about nothing? All the Who cares? I needed to utter to myself while youre bragging about whatever it was youre telling me that I wasnt listening to? Where was all the waiting and wondering I was supposed to do? Wheres all the please dont be him, please dont be him then crap, its him when the phone showed his incoming number? Huh? Where was the norm here?

And okay, between you and me, I kinda liked it. I liked that he didnt go by the dude manual. Or playbook. Or whatever book it is that everybody else thinks exists but doesnt, yet they still try to follow it even while theyre miserably failing. I secretly liked that he didnt play by the rules. Because Heaven knows, I sure dont.

Somewhere I read the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. And in the past, I had done the same thing over and over. Then over and over again. I had done the three hundred eighty-six phone calls from a guy where he yammered just to hear himself yammer. I had read the five hundred twenty-three emails that basically said a lot of nothing. Then for some Im bored and got nothing to do on a Saturday night reason, I had decided he was probably maybe okay enough to meet in person. Then I went on one date. One. Just one. Why one? Because he said boobs. Or mentioned sex. Or dribbled queso down his chin. Without noticing. While I was noticing for the rest of the evening.

This, though? A date on just no phone calls and two emails? That, my friend, was clearly insanity.

But I thought about it, and well... what did I have to lose? We would be in a very public place. Plenty of sharp objects on the table, if needed. If he didnt show, nobody would know. Well, except for that best girlfriend who always made me check in with her after each date to make sure I was safe. She would know. But, if he were a complete arrogant idiot, I could just excuse myself and go to the ladies room. For years.

So we traded phone numbers, and Saturday night it was.

Just two nights away.

Still, no small talk phone call and no chatty text. No confirmation call and no confirmation text. No nothing.

But because he hadnt yet given me any reason to assume he was a flake, I stayed with the plans and gave it a go on Saturday night. And prayed he hadnt forgotten.

As I drove up to this swanky restaurant that he suggested, wearing that cute little blouse I just could not resist and those fancy new heels, I found myself wanting to heave. In a very ladylike and dainty way, of course. I was getting horribly nervous. And I dont get nervous. I actually couldnt remember the last time I got nervous. About anything, much less meeting some guy. Especially some guy I honestly didnt know truly existed. He was just a face on a computer monitor at this point. An email at the most. Just going to be another first date that I prayed wouldnt call again. Yeah, thats it. So why the nerves? Why the boob sweat? I mean, this here wasnt my first rodeo.

And I just mentioned boobs. Great.

It was just as I pulled up to the valet parking attendant that my phone dinged. And there it was: the text.

I was fully prepared to find out he was either going to be late or he was lost or his car wouldnt start. Or he already hated me and was texting to tell me he would not be calling after the date he wasnt showing up for.