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My Wingmidget

June 6, 2011

It was Memorial Day weekend in the Hamptons.  Not this Memorial day (See: Darcy Plus Party) but Memorial Day 2011. As always, New Yorkers crammed themselves into the most eastern shores of New York. By the way, I don’t even know if that is geographically correct, but for the sake of this story, let’s pretend. Bear and I were sitting on the beach, relaxing in some much-needed sun after a truly heinous winter in New York City. We were de-frosting with both friends and family.

Bear was alternating between digging in the sand and running toward the ocean. He has finally reached an age where he jumps in the waves and bodysurfs. No one ever tells you this, but motherhood is essentially a series of mini-heart attacks. With each wave Bear jumped, I would hold my breath as I stood knee-deep in the freezing ocean. After using up our last dry towel, I left Bear with my family  and walked back toward the car to see if I could scrounge up one more.

As I am walking back onto the beach, I spot a man. A handsome man walking in my direction. It took me a second, because he was wearing sunglasses, until I realized…I knew this man. Not only because he was a pro-athlete, but because we were friends at one point. A couple of years ago when we had met over something random, it seems the aforementioned pro-athelete took a liking to me. But we remained just friends. Because he was married.

“Grayden?”
He stopped and turned slowly toward me. Such a hottie. Always was and always will be.
“Darcy? Hey. What’s going on?”
We made the usual small talk, chit-chat, the “I could really care less what we are even saying because I can’t wait to tell Alexis I actually saw you here” conversation that means practically nothing. Unbeknownst to me, during said conversation, some members of my family and friends, had seen us talking and they knew exactly who he was. One of them had announced to the group, “Now THAT is Darcy’s type.” But I had no idea that was going on, because I was here. On the stairs. Talking to Grayden.
Suddenly I see Bear running up to us.
“Hey, Bear. You know what sport he plays? You know what team he used to play for?”
“I know. They told me.”
They, meaning my family and friends who were watching from afar. Awkward that Bear just said this.
“Hey. You are my moms type!” Bear yells to Grayden.
Grayden is a gentleman and pretends not to hear. I, on the other hand, was planning on darting into a hole that some children were digging on the beach and never crawling back out.
Cover me. Quickly. No, no, don’t worry, it doesn’t matter that I can’t breathe.” I imagined myself to be screaming to the children.
But I stood and acted like Bear never said a word.
Bear sensed no one was responding.
“Hey. You. You are my moms type. Mom, he is your type right?”
HO-LY. Just kill me. I glanced quickly into the ocean to see if a tsunami was about to swell. Nothing. It was peaceful and beautiful. Damn you nature. You never work when we need you to. (See: Townie-rific)
Suddenly Bear and I went from cute mother son duo, to creepy gypsy grifters. I imagined Bear to pull out a porridge bowl, “please sir, may I have some more?” he would ask. UGH.
“Oh! Look at that! Is that a mermaid? Look a kite! Bear! Let’s go see it. Grayden, it was great seeing you. Gotta run. Kite.” I may have even tripped in the sand as I was trotting away, Bear in tow.

When the coast was clear, because I had actually dragged Bear to another coast, I asked him,
“Sweetie what was that?”
“What?” He asked innocently.
“That whole thing, about being mommy’s type.”
“Aunt Lucy told everyone the guy you were talking to was your type.”
“And what do you think that means?”
“Um…I don’t know.”
“Got it.”
I was a little relieved he had no idea what it meant. For all he knew, it meant I wanted to draft this pro-athlete onto a fantasy sports league of some kind. Bear doesn’t see me as a single person. He sees me as his mother. And for a long while, at least until he is 28, I would like to keep it that way.

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