Today I was loading groceries into my car when a black BMW pulled into the spot opposite mine. Mr. Muscles stepped out of the car and swaggered toward the store. When he was halfway to the entrance, a curvy blond in boyfriend jeans and chunky heels walked out of the store. He checked her out and she met his gaze for about five seconds, which, in dating years, is A LIFETIME. Lots of singles DIE before they ever make it to five seconds of romantic stranger eye contact.
kept walking to her car but had Mr. Muscles craning his neck all the way
into the grocery store. He took one last look before walking inside and
she gave him a smile that said, “Baby, you know I got it.” Daaaang,
guuuurl. That is.how.it’s.done. And daaaang, guy; you missed your
I climbed in the car and backed out of my spot when I
noticed Mr. Muscles was back. He’d “forgotten” something in his car.
Well shoot, I don’t want to miss this. I pulled back into my spot and
“did some work” on my phone, which is spy code for “I peered into my
rear view mirror.” He was gone. He’d chickened out and returned to the
store. I backed out of the spot again. Then I spotted him at the girl’s
car. She’d rolled down her window and they were chatting. How’d he get
over there without me seeing? I pulled back into the spot and got back
on my “phone.”
They chatted for a few minutes. Get it, guy;
geeeet it. But I couldn’t see. He’d backed into my blind spot. Did he get
it? Her number, I mean? A minute later he walked back into the store.
Was he holding his phone? Ag! This darn blind spot! I’d missed the
climax of my afternoon drama.
I backed out of my parking spot
for a third time, and then noticed the gal had a Biola student sticker
on the back of her Mercedes SUV. Dare I pull in and out of my spot for a
FOURTH time and go tap on her window myself? “Um, excuse me, but I must
know, did he get your number after all that?”
But I didn’t. I am
turning 31 this week, and although I’ve had many ideas of what I would
be when I grew up, I did not foresee becoming the old cat lady who peers
through her blinds to spy on the next door neighbors; or, if you will,
the rear view mirror lady who backs in and out of her parking spot three
times to spy on the young'uns across the way. No, I certainly did not.
And I’d rather not let random Biola students in on the development just
yet. I’ll keep it between you and me.
Also, there’s this: you just never know who’s on the sidelines cheering for you.
Happy Monday, folks.
© by scj