Twenty-five women named Lois were in attendance at the quarterly meeting of the Lois Club of Southeastern Wisconsin.  Not many people know about the worldwide club devoted exclusively to women named Lois.  I didn’t, not until my Aunt Lois signed me up and dragged me to a meeting.  At the time, I expected to be bored to tears.  After all, Lois is no longer a popular name.  Almost all women named Lois are over fifty and I was twenty-six then.  What would we have in common?

The amazing thing is how alike we turned out to be.  There’s even a profile of the Lois personality on the club’s website, and it fits me and my fellow Loises to a tee: practical, highly moral, useful, dependable, earth mothers.

That initial meeting was three years ago.  Now here I sat, being closely questioned about my love life by women who cared about me.  I was ready to break down and cry at any moment.  “No,” I replied to Lois Ketchum, “Dan and I are not together anymore.  I got tired of waiting for him to pop the question.  Four years is long enough to wait, don’t you think?”

“Some men just need more time, dear,” Lois Billings interjected.  “It took my Harry six years to finally ask me.”

“Well, Harry didn’t ask you to move in with him to ‘see if it will work out,’ did he?”  A shocked silence followed.  As I said, Loises are highly moral people.  “I didn’t appreciate being put on trial to see if I was good enough to be his wife.  And I told him so last night.  I also told him I don’t want to see him anymore.”  My voice broke.

Aunt Lois put a Kleenex in my hand.  “Now, Lois,” she told me, “there are other men in the world and there’s someone out there who’s made just for you.  You’ll see.”

“I’m sure you’re right, Aunt Lois,” I replied through my sniffles. Glances and knowing looks were exchanged.  Too late, I realized that I’d let myself in for a marathon round of blind dates.  Every Lois in the room had a matchmaking gleam in her eye. I only wanted to be left alone in my misery, and they all wanted to find me a nice man.

Trying to rein in a Lois is impossible, she simply ignores you and goes about her business.  In the next three months, I dated Lois Mitchell’s chiropodist (boring), Lois Billings’ neighbor (smokes), and Lois Harvey’s nephew’s baseball coach (allergic to my cat, Whiskers).  I could go on, but you get the picture.  I never had so busy a social life and I never felt lonelier.  There was a constant tightness in my chest.  I missed Dan.

My aunt made no effort to fix me up and I appreciated her tact.  The mother of four boys, Aunt Lois always wanted a daughter, but as she put it, “The good Lord answered my prayers for a girl with you, dear.”  Aunt Lois is a good churchwoman with one secret vice: bingo.  To her denomination, bingo is gambling.  Aunt Lois lives in fear that one of her fellow church members will see her entering a local bingo hall someday.

At our monthly bingo session, Aunt Lois remarked, “I ran into Dan at the hardware store yesterday.”

“Really?  How did he look?”  I tried to act casual.

“Not good, dear.  He has a beard.  And his clothes are not too neat.”

I snorted.  “Guess that means he hasn’t found another fool to do his laundry and trim his hair.”  Aunt Lois pointed to B6 on one of my cards, and I inked it with my dauber.  “Did he mention me?”

“He asked me how you are.”  Aunt Lois paused.  “I told him you’re just fine and I expect you’ll be married within the year.”

“You didn’t!  Aunt Lois, that was a bald-faced lie . . . I don’t even have a steady boyfriend.”

“I would never lie, Lois.  I do expect you to be married within the year.  You’ll see.”  She smiled her aggravating know-it-all smile.

A week later, my phone rang in the evening.  As I chatted with Lois Caldwell, she mentioned that she ran into Dan at the local diner.  “He was eating supper all alone.  I asked him how he was doing and he didn’t answer, just changed the subject.  I think he misses you, Lois.”

“He probably just misses my cooking and laundry skills,” I responded.

“Now, Lois, I’m sure you meant more to him than that.  I told him you were enjoying quite the social life.  And do you know what he did?  He didn’t even wait for the bill, just tossed some money on the counter and walked out without a word.”

At the next meeting of the Lois Club, President Lois Acheson was calling us to order when the door burst open and Dan rushed in.  “Lois,” he called.

Twenty-five voices answered, “Yes?”

“No, no, I mean my Lois.”  His eyes darted around the room.

“I’m not yours anymore, Dan,” I said as I stood up and walked over to him.  “Now if you’ll excuse us, we’re in the middle of a meeting.”

“Please,” he begged, “I have to talk to you, Lois.”  He grabbed my hand and pulled me into the hallway.  “I’m miserable without you.  Everywhere I go, one of those women, those Loises, is there to tell me how happy you are without me.   I can’t stand it anymore.”  He dropped to one knee and took my left hand.  “Will you marry me?”

“Why, Dan?  Because you miss my cooking?  My laundry?  Because I might find someone else?”

“No, Lois.”  He gulped.  “Because I love you.  Because I want to have kids with you.  Not just because I miss the nice things you did for me.  Although I do.”

Tears stung my eyes.  “Oh, Dan, of course I want to marry you.”

Behind us, in the doorway, we heard the collective sigh of twenty-four Loises.

“Please, Lois,” Dan whispered as he took me in his arms, “if we ever have a girl, let’s not name her Lois.”

I smiled as I thought about bringing my own little Lois to a club meeting someday.  “We’ll see, Dan,” I whispered back.

THE END