“Mr. Strawberry, hi!” “Do you mind if I call you Mr. Strawberry?” “Or would you prefer just Strawberry?”
OK. Maybe just “hi” would be good. Perhaps with a little elevation in my voice to let him know I’m happy to see him. After all, I am. Aren’t I?
I sighed deeply. The question perplexed me. I wasn’t sure. I was standing in front of the mirror tweezing. With each pluck I practiced another version of how I might greet this man I’d met recently on a plane.
He’d coveted the middle seat, and I the aisle. That in itself bonded us. But it was his fear of flying that had been our true nexus. And lucky me, having a lack of it, found a way to delve into my heart and comfort this poor, panicked, adorable ginger.
But now the time of reckoning had come. Reality.
I had fantasized about this meeting for nearly a month and God knows I love my fantasies. But in exactly 45 minutes I would be standing face to face with dear Mr. Strawberry. I was excited and totally freaked at the same time. Men were on my ‘to do’ list but ‘to do’ later. I was like a duck that wants to wade in the water but knows there’s safety and Apple TV on the shore. Maybe I should cancel.
to be continued…
