I was told for about the one millionth time yesterday that my fiancee (holy cow…that word!) is out of my league. I don’t argue, because she is, but it reminded me of a story.
Eight or nine years ago, I had a stunningly attractive MySpace friend who lived near me in Cape Coral, FL. I don’t remember her name (we’ll call her “Maritza”), but she wasn’t responsive to my online attempts to make her laugh, and we certainly weren’t equal physically. I deemed her “out of my league”.
Around that same time, I briefly dated another girl. She really wasn’t doing it for me physically, and her personality didn’t engage me. I broke that off. I felt like I was out of her league.
The second girl took it well, and continued to support my standup comedy, even once bringing a date (a super nice guy we’ll call “Bill”) to one of the shows. After a subsequent show, I asked her where Bill was. She said she just wasn’t that in to him. She was out of his league.
Fast forward three years later. I opened up Facebook to see that Bill got engaged to Maritza. BILL SKIPPED OVER THREE LEAGUES.
I was pissed. I didn’t know what to do. Was there a League Commissioner I could contact to petition against this obvious violation? Shouldn’t he be fined and suspended from dating? Shouldn’t Maritza be turned over to me automatically?
When I settled down, I had to admit, I admired his skill. He gave me hope that I, too, could eventually snag someone out of my league. That finally manifested itself with the proposal to my gorgeous, hilarious, now-fiancee Evi last week.
So here’s to you, Bill.
But mine is better than yours.