***So, I'm still here in Maryland -- helping to coordinate and faciliate the first week of vendor system demonstration sessions for my client. Part of my roll is to attend the sessions and make sure the presenter and participants stay on track and don't run out of time before everything is demo'd during each four hour session. This can make for a painful and boring day, depending on the skill (or lack thereof) of the vendor representative. Yesterday was particularly rough, and I was expecting more of the same today.
But everything changed when HE started talking this morning.
He had an accent. It took me awhile to pinpoint it, as it was more of a lilt than an out-and-out brogue. He is Irish. And cute in a sort of geeky-techy kind of way. Not movie-star handsome that would turn your head, just pleasantly cute, no more or less so than many men in their early 40's, most of whom are married and therefore not for consideration. Seeing him for the first time, you wouldn't normally (and I didn't) give him a second look.
But that voice.
I have never in my life had such an instantaneous, visceral reaction to a man's voice. I spent the entire morning staring at him from the back of the room, trying not to grin at him like an idiot, as I fell head over heels for a man I'd just met, based solely on his voice.
If you've ever seen that movie, The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood, The Voice sounded exactly like Angus McFadyen, that hotty-hot actor who played Sandra Bullock's fiance. Yum.
And as fate would have it, I was facilitator for his afternoon session as well. By then I stopped paying attention to his words and his demonstration, and just let myself get carried away by the sound of his voice to daydreams of what our children would look like and if we'd have the wedding in Ireland or the U.S. (I decided we'd have two weddings - one in each country). I then began to plot how I could get my hands on one of his business cards, but couldn't think of a single plausible excuse, especially as we consultants are supposed to remain vendor-neutral, (neutral - ha!), and shouldn't really have any contact with them outside of the demo sessions. As a subcontractor, I don't carry business cards myself, or you better know I'd have accidentally dropped one near his laptop computer. I know his name and his employer, and from that could most likely figure out his email address, but I can't think of a reason to contact him that isn't either creepy, or vaguely unethical, or both.
During the mid-afternoon break, I dragged co-worker L., (of the hockey stick story), into the room with me, to hear The Voice. She couldn't really appreciate it like I did, but I chalk that up to the fact that she's happily married. I, on the other hand, wanted to jump his bones. Or at least tape-record several hours of his speech to play each night as I drift off to sleep. He could be reading from the 66,000-page federal tax code - it wouldn't matter. Music to my ears.
I chatted with him a bit after the afternoon session ended -- mainly work-related chit-chat, as I couldn't think of any way to lengthen or personalize the conversation further, especially as he was driving back home to Philly tonight. Never to be seen (or, alas, heard!) by me again.
Perhaps it's better this way. The fantasy is surely better than reality.
It's just too bad I didn't have L.'s hockey stick with me!