The "If I Were..." Game

After a lovely and romantic Valentine’s Day dinner, we still had some time before catching the train back home from Union Station. Slightly giddy from wine, we ducked into a hip restaurant, squeezed in between a group of men to grab two seats at the bar and ordered.

“What’s the deal with the nametags on all those guys?” My husband asked nodding his head towards the group.

“Well there’s only one way to find out.” I answered.

I leaned around him.

“Happy Valentine’s Day. Why are you wearing nametags?’

“We’re here for an event.” Said one man rather abruptly quickly leaving the bar. Drinks in hand, the rest of the group followed.

"Did I offend him somehow?"

"I don't think so?"

Glancing around, we saw several people with their name and a number pasted to their chests. I’m much too curious sometimes for my own good. I had to know so I waved over the bartender.

“What’s with all with nametags?”

“They’re holding a speed dating event tonight in the bar. Every four minutes they rotate partners for the next hour.”

“Oh! So that’s why that guy was wonky. He was nervous. This should be interesting to watch!”

And every four minutes when the whistle blew, our heads would snap around to see the new rotation. Everyone seemed engaged in lively conversation. Smiling. They looked pretty good at it actually. The mismatches were a riot.

As spectators, we decided to play a few rounds of speed dating ourselves making up all kinds of wacky questions and answers.

“If you actually said that, I would never give you my number!”

“Well you’re not as funny as you think you are!”

We weren’t serious at all. It was really fun.

On the way home, we caught the milk run; a train that stops at every station. We didn’t care at all. We decided to play a game we hadn’t in a long time called “If I were hit by a meteor, would you…”

Date? Who? What? Where? When? How? Anyone I know? Would you marry again? How would your life be different without me (assuming the other was gone solely due to natural disaster always using a meteor)? Etc., etc., etc.

The next morning, the phone rang oddly early. My husband doesn’t often call before 7:00 unless it's something important.

“Have you been on the internet yet?”

“No. Why?”

“Go look. You’ll know what I’m talking about.”

What began as a fun and silly game one evening turned sad the following morning. Our game can’t be called “If I were hit by a meteor...” anymore.

Our world is one crazy, crazy place.