Stories of Jeff Excell - Ward Prayer

There was an awkward time in our relationship as we rested on the verge of being flirty friends and dating. So there we were. Stuck on the verge.

Despite our many run-ins, we still hadn't been on a real date. And sure, Jeff had frequently joked that we'd already had several dates, but the reality left us stuck without a single date together under our belts.

I found myself one Sunday at the ever familiar singles ward mixer --  ward prayer -- on a mission to assure Jeff I was ready to overcome the verge and go on an official date with him. I walked in and meandered over to Jeff, beaming at the sight of an available seat next to him. I stole the seat -- a bold move for timid me -- and tried to strike up a conversation.

The verge of dating was especially awkward for me because once I realized how much I liked Jeff, I could no longer act normal around him. My brain would freeze. My eyes would widen. My body became tense. My eyebrows furrowed. I would sweat. Profusely. It's not pretty. And it really tests a man on the verge.

In my awkward state, I attempted to flirt by asking him with my widened eyes batting what he wanted for Christmas. He said he didn't know. Then we sat in silence and soaked up the awkwardness of the verge. Strike one. I should have come prepared with more material.

But it seems like the harder you try to come up with something to say, the harder it is to come up with something to say. So anything that does come out is obviously forced and painful for every member of the conversation. And that's exactly what happened. I cringed at the conversation I was forcing upon us.

After trudging through far too much uninteresting small talk, Jeff took the reigns and asked me what I wanted for Christmas. In all my awkward glory, I said a pony. Strike two.

A pony. What? It was my sad attempt to be funny as I imitated every 5-year old girl's Christmas wish. Jeff didn't seem amused. I needed to get out of there. And fast. I couldn't bear to give myself the opportunity for a third strike.

I excused myself from our misery and made my way to the refreshments table. I shoved a brownie in my mouth, signaled to my roommates we needed to jet and I left the church that night confident my relationship with Jeff Excell was over.