I was shuffling through my Ipod, attempting to find a matching melody for meeting Mr. Strawberry. Sweet, but not too mushy. Not that my eyes weren’t concentrated on the road, but my car sort of drove itself the two miles to Starbucks. By the time I settled on “Tightrope,” my car was in the parking lot.
Look, I was nervous. I just hadn’t felt this kind of chemistry in awhile. And I hate first dates. Really, I plain hate dating. Not that this was a date. I dared not call it that for fear of slipping into another psyche spin-cycle. And, honestly, I’m rather used to being single. I’ve grown accustomed to my face and accepted its flaws.
Alrighty then. Deep breath. No big deal. Don’t have to marry him. You’re only having a caffeine stimulant. Maybe a little cake.
Now, get out of the car. Do I absolutely have to? GET out of the car please. OUTTA THE CAR!
Bolting out of my vehicle and refusing another neurotic thought, I held my head high and focused on my destination. Flip, flip, flip went the sound of my sandals. Only I heard their rhythmic flipping. I became so one with the flipping, that I didn’t see the crack in the sidewalk.
“Oops. Careful,” advised the homeless person sitting on the curb.
I’d tripped, but I didn’t fall. However, I did look around to see what might have caused the crack, and if Strawberry had also witnessed my lack of coordination.
He hadn’t.
Because “there he was just a-walkin’ down the street.” Oh my.
to be continued...
