As is routine, following the baptism we returned to Seventh Heaven for a lovely dinner followed by delicious desserts and lively post-dinner conversation. The sisters-in-law (minus AL who was stuck somewhere in the house) were just settling in for lengthy conversation of utmost importance when Munchkin suddenly announced that she was leaving. To meet a boy. For a date.
Insert interrogation by all family members within earshot here.
She scooted out the door without ever really divulging their intended plans which led the majority of us to one conclusion: they were going to be hanging out at her house a mere three minute car ride away.
Insert plans to crash their date and meet this Match Mystery Man once and for all.
After an hour or so passed, it was decided that it was time to take a little ride. With a gleam in her eye and a bounce in her step, Relish and her friend bolted out the door for a preliminary drive by to ensure our suspicions were correct and they were actually at Munchkin's house. The parting advice - either from her mother or Mrs. MC, I can't remember now - was that if a car was not in the driveway, look in the garage to make sure she didn't tell him to park inside in case we drove by. Brilliant!
Minutes later the girls returned with reports that an unknown vehicle was in fact parked in Munchkin's driveway. Plans were hatched, stalking clothes replaced church finery, and with AL bid us good luck from her spot on the couch tending to her newborn baby's needs, Relish, Sarah, Mrs. MC, The Bride, and I set out in Mrs. MC's van.
There was much talk on the way over concerning what we should do. TP the bushes? Sneak up through the backyard and peek through the windows? Leave a note on his windshield saying, "Can't wait to meet you"? In the end, we decided a simple picture of us standing next to his vehicle would suffice.
Driving into the country club estate, we instructed Mrs. MC do a slow drive by first. On first pass, Munchkin was spotted instantly sitting on the couch. We turned around in order to have the van facing the exit in case of the need for a hasty retreat, stealthily approached the vehicle, and then posed while The Bride took our picture. On the run back to the van is when all hell broke loose.
Immediately Sarah took a spill, nearly causing a self-inflicted traumatic brain injury as she narrowly missed hitting her head on the telephone pole in the middle of the front yard. Mrs. MC let out a scream like only Mrs. MC can. Watching this out of the corner of my eye, I nearly died thinking it was The Bride. How was I going to explain this to her husband, that the mother of his baby went into labor after falling down on damp grass while stalking her sister-in-law on a date? Luckily we all regained our wits quickly and hustled back to our secure location in the van. We gathered ourselves, watching the house closely for any reaction. The Bride texted the picture to Munchkin and we waited. Several minutes passed with no response so we decided to leave.
We got as far as the entrance of her subdivision when it was decided we should drive by again. Taking a different route this time, we slowly approached the house at the exact moment that Munchkin responded to The Bride's text inquiring if we should come back so we could meet him.
Munchkin's response: No, too bad. He just left.
The Bride: Then why can I see him standing in your kitchen?
Oh, the screams and giggling from our van after that one.
We reached the entrance to her neighborhood again and again we decided to go back one more time. This time we were sending Relish in on a possible suicide mission to leave a note on his truck. Getting increasingly panicked, Mrs. MC asked for explicit instructions on how to handle this situation. We told her to cut the lights when she got to the van next to Munchkin's house, slowly creep up along the curb, and we'd wait while Relish handled the mission. Step by step, Mrs. MC handled the situation like a professional.
From the backseat, someone screamed, "THERE SHE IS!". Munchkin was sauntering, arms crossed, to the edge of her driveway. And my hand to God, SHE. WAS. WEARING. SWEATPANTS.
Mrs. MC threw the lights back on - maybe with brights on for good measure, I can't be sure - and punched that gas pedal to the floor like we were being chased by a pack of rabid wolves. She stopped about five houses down; as we turned around and drove by Munchkin's house one final time we waved sweetly, giggling and screaming and praying that The Bride's water did not break in the back of The MC's van, while Munchkin stood at her front door giving us the one finger salute for safe travels back to Seventh Heaven.
It was one of the greatest nights of my life.