How I Met Paco

Hi Paco. My name is Waco. My officemate is getting tired of socializing with me every weekend (even though his wife loves me) and told me I “need to meet someone”. I disagree because I’ve been obsessed with the same man for the past seven years, and just thinking about him takes up most of my time when I’m not socializing with said officemate, but, like, whatever. So hi. I notice you have very straight teeth.

Hello, Waco. Wow. I can’t believe you’re trying to initiate a relationship with me. I was trying to ignore you because your picture makes you look like a Mormon who is looking to breed, but I do feel flattered so OK. Go on.

You also have nice cheekbones.

Yes. Yes I do.

Go on.

I don’t always look like a Mormon who’s looking to breed. I’m actually more of an agnostic who’s looking to breed, and I’m pretty lazy about my hair so it’s normally much messier than most Mormon ladies’ hair would theoretically be. Also, I live with a goat and my parents. And you?

While one of my defining features is the 64 ounce Slurpee I have superglued to my arm, I should tell you that I am terrified of water but willing to look like a fool in a rowboat for a lady. I find goats intriguing, though I would prefer you had a pet dolphin or, perhaps, a whale. Sharks are definitely out of the question, though. Sharks are my limit.



I see that you’re a very passive person who watches a lot of Comedy Central. How do you find time to make music? I spend most of my spare time drinking margaritas and beer with my officemate, when I’m not thinking about my “ex” (ahem) “boyfriend” (cough, cough), by the way. I hope you like at least one of the things I just mentioned.

I’m a multitasker when it comes to TV. Although, honestly, you won’t find that out about about me for years. But let’s just pretend I told you that right up front.

Ok, and we’ll pretend I told you that I like to quit my job every few years so we can blow through our savings as soon as we have any.

Deal. Hey, I’ve been noticing you’ve been wanting to kiss me. Do you mind if I ask you to marry me in a greeting card you can’t read because there isn’t enough light from the firecrackers the neighbors are setting off?

Kiss you? I have no idea what you’re talking about. I want to do a whole lot more than just kiss you. And it’s fine if you ask me to marry you that way. I’ll figure out what you did by the time we get to the middle of the street anyway, after you hug me tearfully and say, “We’re engaged!”. It’ll be awesome. And so will the fireworks, which will seem dim only because they are arcing in the air over our heads like the opening to, “Love, American Style.” Which they totally were, by the way.

You’re funny.

So are you. Let’s fail to make some babies and then we can be children together for the rest of our lives.



1 Comment

Join the discussion and tell us your opinion.

Love, Paco & Waco Style – Groovy Little Cityreply
December 29, 2015 at 10:12 PM

[…] edit them for any reason at all, insecurity being chief amongst reasons. In support of this rule, I am now not only editing but completely rewriting the way I met David, aka Paco, a little over twelve years ago. I’ll throw you a link in case you want to read the […]

Leave a reply