Because I am often not at home, nor particularly close with my roommate, Mary, there are a few gaps in what I know about her complex amour with The Bearded Hobbit. All I can relate are my own perceptions and speculations.

I hoped that it was me just being hypercritical of this strange little man's body language, but later events that week suggest otherwise. I was at ward choir practice minding my own business when The Bearded Hobbit showed up with the Nineteen-Year-Old-Nuisance in tow. He was even carrying her violin. Ugh. 

Now I'm faced with a major dilemma: do I tell Mary or let her find out on her own?

Con Amor, 

The Lady

Now back to my roommate, Mary, and The Bearded Hobbit. 

Last Saturday, Mary had invited The Bearded Hobbit and his roommate over for dinner. She pulled out all the stops. And I mean ALL the stops. She made Julia Child's boef bourguignon. Yes, the it-takes-several-hours-to-cook and several-cups-of-red-wine boef bourguignon. I was nervous that it was all too much. Most girls would just cook tacos or something. Boef bourguignon is a statement meal. It is a this-is-the-sort-of-food-I-would-cook-for-you-if-we-were-married sort of meal. But it all went off surprisingly well and I breathed a sigh of relief. 

Until Sunday afternoon that is. 

I had an interview with my bishop after our ward's meetings, and as I was only one in a long line of interviews, I sat in the foyer with Mary until it was my time. After a while I realized that Mary wasn't waiting for an interview with the bishop, but rather for something else entirely. She kept looking anxiously around the corner at the doors to the chapel, tapping her feet, and sighing exasperatingly. I knew she must be waiting for The Bearded Hobbit to get out of his ward, but I played it cool just to be sure. I asked her if she was waiting to talk to the bishop too, but she sighed again loudly, glancing at the chapel once more and confirmed my suspicions: "Just waiting for The Bearded Hobbit to get out of sacrament meeting." I joked about her really liking him, but she denied the claim, "Oh, we're just friends, and I don't want to rush into anything." Then she continued to wait for at least a half hour for The Bearded Hobbit to get out of his ward just to say "hi". 

Call me crazy, but people who just want to be friends don't generally do these sorts of things. Right?

Con Amor, 

The Lady

For example, my roommate, Mary, has become curiously attracted to a man whom I refer to as The Bearded Hobbit {only in my own mind of course}. The only reason I can imagine she likes him is because he is close to the same age as herself {singles even over 25 are in short supply here}. Every conversation I've had with him has been terribly dull. Terribly. And as his pseudonym may imply, he is also terribly short, which isn't a bad trait at all except for the fact that my roommate is not terribly short. But as it so often goes, several girls find him attractive . . . somehow. Now Mary finds herself battling for The Bearded Hobbit's affections against an over-zealous nineteen-year-old. Chances are the nineteen-year-old will win because when it comes down to it, the younger girl always wins. 

Tune in next week for more of "Mary vs. the Nineteen-Year-Old". 

Con Amor, 

The Lady