Tulip tapped me on the shoulder and came tiptoeing around the corner. “Was that him? How’d it go? Did you deliver?” she whispered.
“Well, I feel strangely liberated, Tulip. All I know is that I did it and I think I’m ready for another stack of pancakes.”
“You got it, sweetie,” she said as she trotted off. “And extra strawberries on the house.” Oh, that Tulip.
After the second batch of pancakes, I headed straight to Strawberry to offer myself up to exclusivity, but felt strangely soporific. I sensed the necessity for a little nap. One too many flapjacks, I’m afraid. Best to be perky at our commitment celebration.
Maybe there were some bad eggs in the batter, because I was really feeling woozy. Once home, my feet barely made it to the couch. The bed was way too many paces away. Slumber came quickly. Deep slumber. I felt like I would never wake up.
But I did. To the sounds of a distant loud speaker announcing our descent into Los Angeles.
A large hand was gently stroking my right arm. “We’re about to land. You better fasten your seat belt,” the soothing masculine voice said. My eyes would not open. I could hear the bustle around me, but I was confined to another world. I didn’t know whether I was here or there.
After a long eyelid-opening battle, I saw the light. And it was reflecting off of a wavy lock of red hair. My head was on the shoulder of a stranger. A stranger I had just committed myself to because he was a good miniature golfer.
“Oh, sorry,” I apologized, gazing up at the man I had nicknamed Mr. Strawberry. “I hope I didn’t disturb you.” I tried to straighten up, but my body wouldn’t move. And his didn't seem to want to move either.
“Not at all…but you did toss and turn a bit. Hope it was a good dream,” he said smiling.
Was it a good dream? I don’t know about that, but it sure was elaborate. I took a moment to try to piece it all together. The master tail twirler, my ex—Colin, seemed to be able to reach deep into my psyche whenever I had even a passing thought of another man. This had been going on for years. But was it possible that this time Mr. Strawberry, in some ginger way, help cut Colin’s cord to me? I couldn’t wait to talk to my therapist about this one.
“Ah, yes…it was a dream, all right,” I said to him, laughing and finally being forced into a full upright position. “I mean it was a…it was a good dream…a really sweet dream, thank you.”
And for all you romantics out there, Mr. Strawberry and Me have planned a Starbucks rendezvous for next week. A reminder that a middle seat may just be the saddle you've been looking for.
The End… or the end of the beginning…
