Life With The Monkees

Two

The first of the men to enter was a relatively tall man.
He looked as though he'd just returned from a trip in the mountains.
Like a sort of lumberjack, dressed in a plaid shirt, tucked neatly into his faded jeans. Upon his feet were a pair of dirty, old, hiking boots in need of a desperate, and thorough wash.
He had lovely dark brown hair and kind brown eyes. Despite his cordial appearance, it was obvious from his excellent posture, and valiant strides, that he was the natural born leader of the group, however, the forest-green wool hat resting pleasantly on his head told a different story.

Following "Wool Hat" came a smaller, yet more vigorous character of a man.
Upon his head was not a wool hat, but a stocking!
There was a sort of skip in his step as he followed. He was dressed in a rather odd choice of clothing. Aside from the stocking on his head, he was also wearing odd shoes for some peculiar reason; a sneaker on the left, and a derby on the right. From what I could tell, he was far jollier than the man before him, for across his face stretched a wide smile, revealing his pearly whites. His brown eyes were warm and sweet, like milk chocolate, and his frolicsome, jubilant approach brought a smile to my face.

Next, came a far more free spirited man. He was composed and collected, and made his entrance far more discreet than that of the man before. Around his neck lay 'love beads', that he appeared to be playing with contentedly, keeping to himself.

"He must be the quiet one." I thought.

Upon his countenance lay a heartwarming smile; the sort an endearing child would give. His topaz-honey brown eyes were like that of a puppy, and each person he would pass, he gave a small, yet sincere smile.
Unlike the two men before him, he was fair-haired. He had lovely, straight gold locks flowing freely across his face.

The last of the men to come through was undoubtedly the shortest of them all. No taller than 5"3.
He had chestnut brown eyes and silky, short brown hair, which he ruffled carelessly with one hand.
It was at that moment, he caught my gaze. My face flushing with embarrassment, I shot my head back to my clipboard.

As the four of them came closer towards me, it really struck me, how increasingly more intimidating they were as a group as opposed to each one by themselves...

"Michael Nesmith." Said the man in the wool hat, extending his hand for me to shake.

"Fran." I cleared my throat, accepting it.

"Peter Tork." Smiled the fair-haired man.

"Nice to meet you Peter." I grinned.
I really did love Peter's smile; it could have genuinely lit up a room!

"Micky Dolenz" Jumped the man with the stocking. "I know it says Michael but that feels so formal, don't cha' think?"

I giggled light-heartedly as he bounced enthusiastically from side to side, before noticing the grimace on the mountaineers' face, making my smile fade.

"So, um, why do you wear that silly stocking?" I smiled back at Micky, no longer feeling the need to throw up.

Micky pulled the stocking from his head to reveal a set of beautiful brown curls.

"To control these little demons!" He teased, shaking his head briskly side to side, demonstrating his wispy curls.

"I love them!" I bleated in awe.

"Really?" He asked, rather surprised.

"Yes! They're wonderful!" I beamed, lighting up Micky's face with another of his wide and very contagious smiles.

"Anyway!" Interrupted the stern, Texan accent of non other than Michael. "This is Davy." He said, patting Davy on the back, briskly forcing him forward.

"Davy Jones." He stumbled, in an unmistakable English accent.

"Nice to meet you Davy." I piped timidly, as the raging butterflies returned to my stomach.

"You're a fellow Englishman I hear?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Englishwoman!" Bellowed Micky mockingly.

"You know what I mean." Laughed Davy.

"And the way she looked was way beyond compare!" Sang Micky childishly.

"So how could I dance with another?" They all joined in.
"OOOOOOOOOOOOOHH! When I saw her standing there"

It was really rather peculiar how four boys, ever so different from one another, could collaborate so well together.

"I hate to rain on your parade boys but you have places to be, things to do!" I chuckled, feeling like a slight buzz kill, ruining their fun like this.

"Don't you like the Beatles?" Micky teased.

"Of course I love the Beatles! Who doesn't?! But you four have got a pilot to film, and then a recording session later on!" I reminded them.

"Oh yeah!" They laughed.

And to my surprise, without any fuss, the boys made their way to set; Davy trailing behind.

"It was lovely meeting you!" He waved.

"It was nice meeting you all too." I thought happily.

And that was how I met
The Monkees....