I was on a flight yesterday afternoon, all the while drifting in and out of sleep, when suddenly, my mind began to wonder. What was it that you did on Valentine’s Day?
It wasn’t long before I had to put the thought out of my head—not because I didn’t care, or because I lacked the curiosity. It was down to the possibilities. They were liable to make me cringe.
Chances are, you spent at least a part of February 14th out to dinner with another guy; receiving flowers from another guy, else (and these are in no particular order of concern) coming to realize that you were delighted by the efforts of another guy.
It may be best that we don’t push on from there, as the possibilities aforementioned could conceivably mean that you were getting up to—what, God only knows—with some douche bag of another guy.
Mind you, I have no right to feel this way. I know that full well. Despite appearances to the contrary, I’m not being naïve, or hypocritical. There is plenty in the way of living to do, and the truth of the matter is, we have yet to reach that point in time—that is, the moment, when and if it happens, that you and I cross paths. Until we do, there will be days and nights spent dating, all the while wondering, pondering the question of whether or not the person sitting next to you could be, might be, may be the one, if only.
Never you mind that he doesn’t kiss the way I do. Not as long, not as well, and nowhere near as unabashedly—certainly, not in public. Still, you are liable to go on looking, and there will be many a man quite willing to step up and try their hands at making you happy. That doesn’t mean I have to like it.
In the moments before my plane touched down, I was struck by a thought most maddening of all. Regardless of whom you spent your evening with, there’s just no chance—no way, no how—that he’d turn out to be some douche bag of a guy. He’s likely kind, decent, and chances are, even moderately effective at making you laugh. It makes it hard for me to hate him, but he’s probably the kind of guy I’d like to grab a beer with.
To my mind, you wouldn’t be the kind of woman to stand for anything else. No. Not you. Not the girl I’m going to marry.
Why, it mightn’t be a stretch to say that even years from now, you and another guy may still be friends (on Facebook, anyway). Because to my mind, the girl I’m going to marry is kind, decent, and chances are, perfectly incapable of keeping a straight face, whenever in my presence.
But when and if the day should come that you and I have tied the knot, and if another guy should number amongst our friends, and if he’s joining us, some evening, for a beer? Let’s be clear about one thing.
He’s buying.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Friday, February 13, 2009
INDIGNITY
It happened this morning.
As is the case on most weekdays, I arrived in the office. I popped the lid on my computer. I went to the kitchen, poured a cup of hot water, and waited for the tea to steep. Then I sat down at my desk, where I logged on to any number of e-mail accounts and opened various inboxes.
This was a typical morning routine—the same old song and dance. I couldn’t have known to expect a surprise, let alone to steady myself for a brush with something out of the blue. I guess it hadn’t hit me. I had not recognized or even realized that this morning, unlike all others, marked the eve of a manufactured, confectionary holiday. After all, I’m not dating.
Perhaps it was in spite of my obtusion; nevertheless, the following ensued.
I opened up one of my personal accounts. I discovered a bevy of messages, all waiting to be read. Up and down, I perused the list, skipping past something from one of the airlines—a mileage update, maybe—and around an offer from American Express. Every message seemed to be of the typical fare, but that was when I spotted it: A note with a subject line that read, “Just because we love you…”
Now, who amongst us wouldn’t want to receive a note like that?
For starters, it was sweet. Come to find, it was also appropriately timed. Cupid comes around tomorrow, after all, and I’m plumb out of ardent devotion.
So, yeah… I got a bit excited. My pulse quickened. I could taste the hint of adrenaline, and soon my mind was wrought with curiosity. My brain began to fire with all the questions you’d imagine. I was very nearly on the verge of opening that proverbial door, making way not just for hope, but possibility, too.
It was about that time, maybe a moment later, when finally I realized: This note was from a company trying to sell me running shoes.
(Sigh.)
My ego is wont to wax and wane, and this much I will freely admit. From time to time? I probably deserve to be taken down a peg or two, but on the day before a Hallmark Holiday? That’s when they choose to toy with my emotions? As if that weren’t enough, they have got the gall to sucker me in, by playing on my propensity for Retail Therapy.
In this economy?
That’s just low.
As is the case on most weekdays, I arrived in the office. I popped the lid on my computer. I went to the kitchen, poured a cup of hot water, and waited for the tea to steep. Then I sat down at my desk, where I logged on to any number of e-mail accounts and opened various inboxes.
This was a typical morning routine—the same old song and dance. I couldn’t have known to expect a surprise, let alone to steady myself for a brush with something out of the blue. I guess it hadn’t hit me. I had not recognized or even realized that this morning, unlike all others, marked the eve of a manufactured, confectionary holiday. After all, I’m not dating.
Perhaps it was in spite of my obtusion; nevertheless, the following ensued.
I opened up one of my personal accounts. I discovered a bevy of messages, all waiting to be read. Up and down, I perused the list, skipping past something from one of the airlines—a mileage update, maybe—and around an offer from American Express. Every message seemed to be of the typical fare, but that was when I spotted it: A note with a subject line that read, “Just because we love you…”
Now, who amongst us wouldn’t want to receive a note like that?
For starters, it was sweet. Come to find, it was also appropriately timed. Cupid comes around tomorrow, after all, and I’m plumb out of ardent devotion.
So, yeah… I got a bit excited. My pulse quickened. I could taste the hint of adrenaline, and soon my mind was wrought with curiosity. My brain began to fire with all the questions you’d imagine. I was very nearly on the verge of opening that proverbial door, making way not just for hope, but possibility, too.
It was about that time, maybe a moment later, when finally I realized: This note was from a company trying to sell me running shoes.
(Sigh.)
My ego is wont to wax and wane, and this much I will freely admit. From time to time? I probably deserve to be taken down a peg or two, but on the day before a Hallmark Holiday? That’s when they choose to toy with my emotions? As if that weren’t enough, they have got the gall to sucker me in, by playing on my propensity for Retail Therapy.
In this economy?
That’s just low.
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