What have I done?

That's it. I feel like a bastard.

Every time I think about it, I can't believe it. I'm such an idiot.

Ok, so the deal is this: I went to a fall festival yesterday, complete with three legged races, hay rides, tons of food, turkey legs, and a basket lunch auction.

Which brings me to my story.

I went to the party rather excited. I figured that I was going to have fun at this old fashioned auction. You know, the kind straight out of the Laura Ingalls books where the eligible girls of the community prepare a basket lunch to be auctioned off anonymously to the available guys. Who then bid against each other, not so much for the basket of food as much as for the opportunity to get to sit down and eat it with the young lady who prepared it.

Pretty cool, huh?

To add the equation, all of the proceeds from this particular auction were to be directed to a particular missionary family being supported in a large way by my church.

Even cooler, right? Right.

So...I bring my checkbook. I'm prepared to get into a few bidding wars in effort to drive the bidding up, before actually winning a bid myself. This was gonna be good!

So far, so good!

Enter problem number one: The auction is set to begin at 4 o'clock. About five-fifteen i'm checking my watch, wondering when things are going to get rolling.

Enter problem number two: Barely anyone shows up. Actually, there were a fair number of bodies present. Just not from the age or stage-of-life category necessary to make this whole thing synergistic. Which translates into: few girls=few baskets; AND fewer guys=fewer bidders. Grrr...

All this notwithstanding, I'm still determined to enjoy my little moment of community involvement. Nothing is going to stand in the way of what I've been looking forward to with such anticipation for the last month!

The auction commences. The auctioneer drones on, extrapolating the amazingness of the baskets' contents, and extoling the virtues of the girls who prepared them.

The first one goes for $17. Seventeen Dollars! BAH! "Come on!" I think, "surely this crowd can do better than that!"

The next basket comes up. This one's a real beauty! A bottle of sparkling cider, fresh baked double chocolate cookies (yes, i described the desert first), fresh chicken salad sandwiches, and fresh cut vegetables, etc, on the side. Some one put some thought and effort into this one.

So, with no further ado, I launch in.

Bidding starts at five dollars, and immediately jumps to ten.

"Fifteen!" I shout.

Without much hesitation, I hear a follow up, "Seventeen!"

I immediately counter with, "Twenty dollars!"

The crowd starts to get in on this one. "Oooh"s and "Aaah"s break out now and then.

"Twenty-two", then "Twenty-three", break out from various portions of the audience. But with "twenty-five!", I glance over to see who my competition is here.

He's young. Maybe seventeen. Eager. The best part is that he's got no less than three of his buddies all whispering in his ear at once. They're obviously egging him on.

"Thirty dollars over here," I shout out. His face falls.

"I'm broke now," he mumbles to his buddies, but loud enough that the auctioneer hears it.

"Who cares about that!" the auctioneer breaks in over the loudspeaker, "you've got friends. Just borrow from them. I'm sure they'll pitch in!"

Sure enough. With a few more whispers of advice he's back in with "Thirty-two!"

This is good. Now we're on a roll! I bring the bid up to thirty-five. Someone else throws out thirty-seven, then thirty-eight.

Finally, the young guy maxes out at forty dollars.

"GOING ONCE!"

"GOING TWICE!!"

You know you've always wanted to do it. I certainly have. So, I break in at the last possible second with "Forty one!"

The crowd really goes crazy over that one! I get some attention. Then all eyes turn to my opponent. Several whispers are exchanged. He's officially out. Not bad for a seventeen year old.

The auctioneer then tries a few more times to see if there are any other bidders out there. But in vain. With "Once, Twice, and Three times gone", it's mine.

Enter problem number three: I have unexpectedly acquired a deadline for leaving. At five-thirty my ride is leaving. And I've no time to sit down in a far corner of the farm for a romantic lunch, as tradtion would suggest, with the fine young lady who steps forward as preparer of my basket.

I make apologies. She's fine with me just taking it. I'm not sure she really wanted to sit and eat it with me in the first place. Her mother comes over and explains how the whole thing was prepared as only a mother would think to do. I figure everything is fine and good as I write the check and head for the car.

Which is when I remember that I need to go back to give something to my mother before I leave. Which is when she explains to me that she had been trying to motion to me that I needed to let my opponent win that particular basket. Which is when I realize what the pained expression was on his face every time I outbid him. Which is when I realize that I have just gone and commited the cardinal sin of the brotherhood of single guys.

I had the chance to help him out. Give him a shot. Arrange for him to have a chance with the young lady he obviously had a crush on. I should have seen it. In his reactions. In her face. Should've, could've given them the chance to spend that romantic lunch together.

But no. I strong arm the auction. I take the winning bid. Then throw the entire thing down the drain by blowing it off and leaving with the lunch!

WHAT?!? HOW could I have been so blind!?! And so inconsiderate! And such a felon in the books of common decency!

Everytime I think of it, I groan inside. What have I done?!?

I'm sure karma has it out for me now! Perhaps in some way I feel that this blogging tribute will count for a confession. A repentace, if you will. Something to appease the truckloads of bad karma barreling my way.

I still haven't eaten the lunch. It sits in my refrigerator. Waiting for the chance to turn to poison in my stomach. I almost dread touching it now. Bad luck can only await someone who has the chance to help a fellow single guy out, but just reloads his shotgun to shoot the whole thing to shreds.

I truly am a bastard.

I am sure my reccompense will come. And probably at the worst possible time.