The Guy From Idaho

 

He is dating the daughter of our friends.  They have been together for several years now.

According to her parents, she met him at a convention.  Nice guy.  Treats her well.  They get along.  Mom and dad like him.  Oh, and he’s from Idaho.

I can’t recall hearing his name but I do remember the frequent mentions of him being from Idaho.

 

I tried being sly to learn his name by asking the mom…

Me:   “So how is Amy…and her boyfriennnnd?…”

Her:  “…The guy from Idaho?  They’re just great!”

Me:  “That’s good to hear.”

Drats.  My scheme to prove his identity had failed.

I could just come clean and ask his name but they have been dating for so long now–it would be embarrassing on my part.  

 

So the mystery continued.  His name.  The guy from Idaho.

Until recently when we bumped into the whole family at a local fair.  Mom, dad, Amy and her boyfriend- the guy from Idaho.

Here was my chance.

He approached me.  We shook hands.

Me:  “Hi, I’m Doug.”

Him:  “Hi, I’m the guy from Idaho.”

$%#&!!!  Still no name!

It was an uncomfortable meeting as I didn’t know what to say.  I mean, I’d never before met someone from Idaho.

The only things I knew about Idaho were potatoes and that ugly, blue football field at Boise State.

Grasping for conversation, I awkwardly mentioned both he & I were from states with names that began and ended with a vowel.  (Him-Idaho.  Me-Ohio)

Needless to say he wasn’t intrigued.

I got nervous and fell into my old standby conversation starters…

“Sooo, potatoes.  Baked or mashed?”

“Ahh how ’bout that blue field?  Pretty ugly, huh?”

Neither subject peaked his interest.  Epic fails on my part.

 

Soon enough, both families parted, each going our separate ways.

Maybe next time I will learn his name.

I turned and waved one last time.

So long my friend. 

Whatever your name. 

The guy. 

The guy from Idaho.