This is in response to the daily prompt:  Tell us your funniest relationship disaster story.

I would hardly call her third rate.  We’ve been married 29 years.  We have two sons and a grand daughter on the way.  We have a full life, we’re still in love.  But it did not start that way.  It almost didn’t start.

I was visiting friends in San Francisco, May 1983, to house warm their new home.  It was a wonderful flat in the Richmond District, with bay windows, wood floors, and a garage.  I was planning to meet a specific woman, Maria, whom our host thought I would enjoy.  She arrived with a female friend in tow.  My former house mate Rob showed up at that moment, perhaps with a drink or two under his belt.

“Tommy, Tommy” (he’s one of maybe three people on the planet who call me Tommy)”This is Donna, this is Donna.  She’s the one I’ve been telling you about.”

Donna had beautiful green eyes, a big smile, and seemed pleased to meet me.  I thought she was beautiful but was quickly bewildered by two women and a matchmaker friend.  I excused myself to get a snack, and caught Donna’s eye on the way down the hall.  She smiled.  I told the hosts I wasn’t feeling well, and left.

Rob called, a few days later, and sang me happy birthday.  He was sure I’d really like Donna, and gave me her phone number.  I held the number for a day or two then gave her a call.  We planned our first date.

Writing prompt:  Third Rate Romance