5/04/2009

She Flirts. . . She Fails. . .

The scene: Sunday evening, the parking lot of the tiny shopping center near my parents'. I'm sitting in my car which is parked in the alley between the Chinese restaurant and the grocery store, waiting for my mom to pick up takeout.

A young man comes out of the little Italian place next door to the Chinese place. (I know, weird placement, but it works in this town. Case in point: I'm parked in the alley because the lot is full. Amy G. knows where I'm talking about.) He's got a small pizza box with a paper bag on top and he's walking to the passenger side of his red jeep which is just on the other edge of the alley next to my car. He's cute. He looks my way and looks even cuter, so I smile, a little shy smile. And thank God I'm still wearing my church makeup.

He puts the stuff on the passenger seat of the jeep and starts walking toward me a little bit. I'm thinking, no way. Not too long ago, I told myself that the man who's really meant for me would cross a room (or an alley) because he had to talk to me.

At the same time, I notice out of the corner of my eye that my mom is walking across the alley with the bag containing dinner for her, Dad, and me. So as she's reaching the front of my car, he gestures with a smile, and says. . .



"Your coat's caught in your door."



I look down and realize the belt from my little black raincoat, the annoying belt I'm constantly losing, is indeed stuck in the door.

I'm sure I'm blushing as I say, "Thank you," and open the door to fix my coat. He laughs, too, and then he's gone.

Well, actually, my car's behind his jeep at the traffic light on the other side of the shopping center lot, and when the light changes and he turns left and I drive straight, then he's gone.

Maybe he backed off when he saw my mom. Maybe he was just being nice on his way to bringing dinner home to his girlfriend. (Or boyfriend--he did turn left and that's toward Philly.)

Or maybe I should go for Italian next Sunday around 6:15 p.m.

8 comments:

Lizzie said...

Hm. I wouldn't call that a FAIL. You smiled. He approached. I'd call that "tee-hee!"

maggiecheung said...

That is hilarious. I would definitely get Italian next Sunday. And then follow him! Yeah!

Cullen said...

I could never get down that I smile, she smiles thing in less than ideal settings. At a party, with a group, in a bar, I understand (or rather, understood).

Mr. Bingley said...

I'm thinking Italian is definitely on the menu!

Kate P said...

Lizzie--I should always let you give me the second opinion. You rock.

Maggie--Nothing's more romantic than stromboli and stalking.

Cullen--(I love that the men are weighing in on this!) So you're saying strangers are less strange under more contained situations?

Bingley--Yes! And "menu" starts with M-E-N! Hahahahaha.

Cullen said...

Yes and no. Different situations bolster our awareness of certain things or our desire for types of human interaction, certainly. People standing in a long line with strangers find an odd camaraderie.

WordGirl said...

The only -- ONLY! -- I've ever been approached happened to me on my bachelorette weekend in the mountains (Kate knows the city -- or she should) at an Irish Pub.
This talllll drink of water kept looking over at me and making eye contact. I was trying not to look at him (being engaged an' all) but he was insinuating himself into my line of sight. "He's way too cute to be scoping on me," I thought. But I mentioned it to my best friend who was sitting in the booth across from me, her back to him. I said, "There's this guy who keeps looking over here at me and smiling." I looked behind me, there was no one else it could have been.
"Well is he cute?" she asked.
I squinted, "Yeah... but he's dumb."
She laughed, "You can tell?"
"Oh yeah, dumb braodcasts itself much louder than cute."
Then he started over to our table. (!) "This has gotta' be a joke," I thought. "I've been set up or something." Horrible images of him stripping right there in the bar and my friends laughing and taking pictures flashed in my mind's eye.
He offered to buy us drinks and if he could sit down. Then his "stepbrother" appeared out of nowhere and began the actual sell.
Turns out, tall-drink WAS dumb as a box a' rocks and his wingman -- er, "stepbrother" -- was the brains of the operation.
We got free drinks all night, danced our butts off to jugband and ragtime and no one did anything I wouldn't want my fiance to have seen.

That was a bachelorette weekend miracle, I'm thinking.

Kate P said...

Cullen--I see what you're saying. I'll bet you have a very logical, analytical sense about you. (That's a good thing, BTW.)

WG--OMG! Funny how you thought you were being set up. In reality, there you are, the hot chick, and being about to get married probably made you 1000x hotter. Free drinks rock. :)