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November 23, 2002 Rendezvous at Two I'm not supposed to understand why I think or feel this way, but she's got me thinking upside down, inside out and all that weird butterfly-in-the-tummy type stuff. I guess it's what she does; it's what women do. Thirty seconds past Broadway, and I notice the girl: Clad in supa-style, oozing out sexual charm and declaring to the world her indepedence. (From what? Who cares. Could be from her addiction to Starbucks, for all I care.) She came into the pizza place a few minutes after me and left a few minutes before me. I wanted three slices; they had two left; she wanted two; she got two; I had to wait for my three. And that's how the math of the story occurred, but it doesn't really matter. It's the time that made the difference. Fifteen second glances worry people, so I did it for one second, fifteen times. Maybe she noticed, maybe she didn't, but again, it doesn't matter. Those fifteen glances were probably good to calm my nerves, because if I had gotten just one, one second glance, she'd have become something supernatural that I'd dream about not really knowing the true identity. But it's okay, because I'm surviving. But it irks me, bugs me because I didn't step up to the plate. Note to self: Don't leave the building without combing your hair. And shaving. And stuff. It doesn't work (unless you're Japanese?). Maybe. So, I'm going to go to bed. And I'll probably think about her. Of course, I shouldn't because it's all in my head. But who cares. I dream a little dream into the sunlight, and all will be alright. I'll fall in love again tomorrrow when I cross paths with a Korean-Irish beauty from Seattle (or "Here's to dreamin' again...). She'll smile back at me, too. And we'll live happily ever after. « Loyalty: Still Bittersweet? | BCS: Bowl Corporate Series? » | |||