The great thing about Mary

Kella has greatly undertold the ambush of Mary. It grows more fervent with each passing day. By now, it's pretty fervent; if it were a banana it would probably be black. Luckily, its just a story and I'm just its teller.

I needed to visit the icon and ice cream establishment Ted Drewes, famous for concretes and other cold concoctions. Having grown up with just the bulk of Missouri between me and Ted, I was fond of the place and suggested we hit him up for something chill. Kella agreed. Then she hatched her ambush plan.

It didn't start out as an ambush plan, just a friendly visit. It started with a phone call that went unanswered and then another and another. If we had been asking Mary out on a date, our call volume would have been high, but we weren't and it wasn't like she was answering the phone anyway. I should mention at this point that although I was and still am quite fond of Mary, she and I had fallen pretty far out of touch. Far enough that if Kella hadn't been around I wouldn't have even found her in the phone book or known which side of the Mississippi she called home. If Mary and I had been components of a BLT, we probably would have been on separate sandwiches at this point. None of that would stop Kella; she is a determined woman.

We arrived on Mary's street, where brick houses bumped up against their neighbors and sidewalks sliced through front yards. Every house had porch steps. The straight slightly sloping street looked like the suburbs of a childhood someone older than me would remember. We found Mary's home and the ambush unfolded.

More calls went unanswered. So did banging on the door, ringing of the doorbell, and shouts of "MARY!" through the screen. Lights were on, but nobody was home. Dogs didn't bark. Babies didn't cry. Streets were quiet and Ted awaited. I would have given up at this point, if not at points before. I didn't want to wake anybody. I started to doubt my appeal to Mary at 9:30 PM on a school night. I tried to convince Kella of this; but, and you may have heard this, she is a determined woman. She strode confidently to the neighbor's door and rang the bell. A neighbor, a friendly enough Midwestern woman with proper neighborly curiosity answered the door as I stood on the sidewalk between the two houses. Kella introduced herself and explained our plans and our surprise that Mary's family was not to be found. The neighbor took in the story only eyeing the bearded stranger lurking on the sidewalk once. Fortunately for me, beards hide blushing, and darkness hides the rest.

The concerned neighbor and Kella proceeded to go through the same knocking, ringing, shouting ritual that I had already witnessed as I stood on the sidewalk behind them. Had we been scorned lovers of Mary's this was the point where she might have considered a restraining order.

None of this seemed to have an effect. And then when I was really ready to give up, which was three notches above ready to give up, their ritual reached ears and my blush reached pinker. Finally, we entered the house, Mary appeared, eyed me for a moment in then said in a high-pitched greeting straight out of my past, "DAVE." The blush left, Ted was on his way, and I was regaled by the fabulous storytelling styles of Mary.

Score one for determined women. Score one for an ambush.