B is For Backhand

It's a given law of nature that when competing predators see prey being pursued, they join in. In the English vernacular, we call this "coming out of the woodwork." When I was preparing to leave on my mission, all of the sudden every male within a 12 mile radius was knocking on my front door. Any time I'm dating someone exclusively, I experience this same phenomena. Hello?! Where were you three months ago when I awkwardly had a face-off with the guy who stood me up? I'm just saying, you're timings a little off dudes. That being said, the specimens that are expelled from said woodwork are usually....of an exotic breed. Take last Sunday for example. As a ward missionary, it's my privilege to teach the Gospel Principles class (learn more here) every other Sunday. When you know you're going to be standing in front of an audience, you try to make an effort to look your best-No sense in subjecting your class to an eyesore for an hour! Now, I'm not one to EVER toot my own horn about my physical appearance. If I do, it's out of a fit of facetious-ness. My best friend will tell you that I carry the lowest opinion of myself, but that's a topic for a Dr. Phil edition or something, not the Cat Lady. ANYWAYS, it's about as rare as finding Peter Pan's shadow that I will deem myself attractive, much less voice it. But on this particular Sabbath day, I would have given myself a 7. I was wearing my hunter-green pencil skirt, Nieman Marcus heels, and my hair was doing its usual voluptuous routine. As class began, I was excited to have seemingly eager participants, until I realized that one of them was that kid. You know the one I'm talking about; the guy who has to speak just to remind himself how beautiful he thinks his own voice is? He was becoming very distracting and disruptive, and finally winks at me and says,"I'm just teasing. Just ignore me." In typical Sister-Chidester-smackdown fashion, I retorted,"It would be much easier to ignore you if you would be quiet." A midst the muted cheers for my verbal lashing, our wanna-be Flynn Ryder looked somewhat abashed, and thankfully corked it for the rest of the meeting. After class ended, I gathered my things, cleaned up the whiteboard, and turned around only to find our antagonist about 6 inches away from my face. "Yes?" I said. "Do you have a critique for me or something?" He proceeds to grin like a goon and says,"No, but I do have a question; you said you're a designer, right?"

"Right," I reply. 

"Can you tell me what material this is?" he asks, holding out his suit coat arm. 

"Um...probably not, considering that's not my area of study."

"Please, can you just try?"

(pinching the fabric between my fingers) "My guess would be viscose and polyester." 

Grinning, he looks me dead in the eye and states,"Nope. That's boyfriend material." 

"..............................................................................................................................................................."

There was literally nothing to say to that. An incredulous laugh/gasp passed my lips, and then I walked off to talk to actual boyfriend material.