I did something stupid. Again. But this time, I should have known better…
I ruined a perfectly flawless meet-cute by waking up too late to do my hair and failing to know how to drink coffee without spilling it all over myself.
Could it have been adorable none-the-less in a Carrie Bradshaw wasn’t-prepared to-go-to-the-movies-with-Burger sort of way? Yes. Except he wasn’t in jeans and a T-Shirt silkscreened with Of Mice and Men on the front of it. He was in a suit. That wasn’t even wrinkled.
Don’t get me wrong. I love a man in a suit. Probably more than I would one in a JStein T-Shirt and you know how much I love Steinbeck. But I can only handle men in suits when I look like I should be standing with one. And at this particular moment, I looked like the girl you expected to step off of public transportation.
Do you remember Spanish Raul? The guy who was so prominently featured in the worst how to article of the century? Right. Well, he’s not Spanish, first of all. But that’s not the point I’m going to make. He’s fucking great looking (first F-Bomb in like, three weeks, let it slide). I wouldn’t have known this yesterday at 10am when he emailed me telling me I had forgotten to give him the camera charger when I sold him my Canon, because when I meet someone really good looking for the first time my brain tricks me into thinking they’re ugly so that I can focus on the task at hand and not make a fool out of myself.
So of course, coffee stain and bad hair and totally-frazzled mid-work-day me was all “Sure Raul, I’ll meet you at 1.” Because I’m an idiot.
Let me just tell you, my brain remembered pretty freaking quickly that Raul from some place that buys gold was actually a 10/10. Not to mention he’s standing there in his suit, fresh from “the office” (?) So of course, Queen of awkward meet & greets, goes all:
Hi, so sorry, don’t know what I was thinking, it was just sitting right there the whole time, okay thanks, Thanks!
And high tails it out of his face without so much as a hello or goodbye for the second time.
I could have made some witty retort about how I didn’t know there was a dress code. Or I could have been all “here’s my number, in case you’re missing anything else 
“. Or I could have just flirted like I usually do, despite the awkwardly buttoned coffee covering cardigan. But no, I couldn’t think straight because I was so mad at myself for not remembering he had a face that was nice to look at.
I’d really like to be able to blame this all on my brains inability to recognize good looks the first time around- but I can’t. As it stands, this is the handicap that I’m counting on when the moment I finally bump into Ryan Kesler (looking my best, obviously) occurs. So all I really have to blame is my inability to remember that advice I used to read on the pages of Cosmopolitan “the day you wear sweat pants to the grocery store is the day you will run into your ex-boyfriend.”
I used to be furious that Cosmo wrote the same thing in every single issue. But now I know why. Because the 48 (?) issues of the magazine that I read between the ages of 16 and 20 didn’t even manage to get their repeated message across.
Alas, I am certain that I included everything else with the camera that I was supposed to, so … let’s just screw the cap on to the most eventful Craigslist sale of my life and hope that I run into him when I’m out, looking really good, & only tipsy enough to give him my number and tell him to call me maybe - not drunk enough to tell him that I would do really, really, really…. well… I’m not drunk enough to say it right now.
xo & yw
