Given my tremendous near success with Mr. “Taylor, the latte boy” (ok, not really, but in my memoirs, it will be), I decided to saunter by Starbucks again today. I was looking good– hair wild (which in fantasies is suddenly transformed into honey blond with cascading waves rather than brunette and wind-knotted), innocent, yet flirtatious top and butt-lifting jeans.
I had forgiven my iPod for being male and programmed in some attitude tunes.
I was practically strutting while going through my mental checklist:
1. Facade of confidence (check)
2. Friendly smile signaling acceptance and openness and in no way resembling the creepy smiling painting in The Black Dahlia (check)
3. Eyes up in order to invite communication (check)
Dr. Phil would be proud.
I see a lovely boy sitting in the corner by the window. It’s a little nook right by the door. He’s definitely alone, and he’s reading the paper (wonder if he has a news obsession like I do). Frankly, the fact that he reads is all it takes for me to be interested these days.
Ok, two things that Dr. Phil may not have taken into consideration.
1. While looking down might be less inviting, it would seem to be more practical.
2. Wild hair might be amore alluring, but so is seeing that the sidewalk is uneven.
While I was coyly looking through a curtain of out of control hair at Mr. Corner Table, my foot got caught mid strut on uneven sidewalk propelling me into the now open glass door.
No, no. Not kidding.
On the upside, neither the door, the older woman walking out of it, her dog, nor I were really damaged. On the downside, the mortification (not to mention the bruise on my knee) made it slightly more difficult to strut away convincingly. It really had more of a drunken sailor thing going for it.
Remind me to be more specific with fate. When I thought “golly, I hope he notices me”, I may have left some dangerous room for interpretation. Once again, fate was laughing (or was that limited to just the patrons of Starbucks?)
Current score: Starbucks 2, Kate 0
Kate, limping in LA