What will we talk about? Will Strawberry be as adorable in Starbucks as he was on that 737? Or will it be icky, awkward and have the stench of silence? Uh, oh. I’d better prepare an excuse for an early getaway. He’s probably plotting the same damn thing.
I only knew a few things about him. Or maybe I only remembered a few. He was easy on the eyes. I already mentioned that. He’s a therapist slash life-coach. That could be weird. But means a high listening IQ, a trait I admire. He was taller than me, another trait I admire.
And if receiving a large arrangement of stargazer lilies the day after soothing his sweet strawberry soul is any indication of thoughtfulness and a little romance, well, there’s one more trait I admire.
Oh, my neurotic mind. It’s awfully busy.
What if he only likes action movies, and not only hates chick flicks, but actually calls them that? What if he wears tight bikini briefs and shaves his back? And worships golf? Do I dare date a redhead? Suddenly I remembered in Greek mythology that redheads became vampires after they died.
Oh, stop. Would you just stop?!! Just go meet the guy for coffee and talk about the weather. Have a cocktail afterwards, if you have to.
I laughed out loud at the blather of it all. Truth was, my gut told me I was going to like him. And it had been a while since my gut had spoken such sentiment. Honestly, it scared me. But, with a command to my brain to stop the pistachio processing, I hurriedly slipped on my jeans and my favorite crimson top.
One last check in the mirror, another deodorant roll for confidence, double Altoid toss, and I was out the door to meet Mr. Strawberry….
to be continued…
