Cruise Control

About a week ago I went to a local store to purchase a present for Billy’s birthday: Mr. Potato Head and a box of chalks, which had much success on her parent’s dark hard wood floor, almost as much as last year’s xylophone. When I got to the store, there was a car parked next to the only available stall. The driver’s side door was open; the owner standing next to it was holding a plastic jug, window washing fluid I guessed. The moment I was parked, he came running to me with an unexpired parking ticket. “Gee, you’re far more honest than I am. Thank you” I never bother purchasing these time allotment parking tickets; my patronage should be more than enough to these establishments. The only time I was ever caught red-handed, I expressed my dissatisfaction with such vocal clarity, and attracted such a crowd of curious, that the manager kindly made it disappear. Never-the-less, since it was freely provided to me, I put it on my dash and left without as much as glimpsing at the donor. When I came back, he had left a note on my windshield asking that I call him if I was as single as he. Given that that very same morning I had decided that from there on, I would embrace all the opportunities sent my way, I thought a certain leap of faith was in order, so I gave him a call. I got his voice mail and left a message for him to call me back after work. He was evidently a very eager man for he returned my call almost immediately, requesting that we meet for lunch fifteen minutes later, for coffee in the afternoon or that we spend some time chatting about ourselves over the phone, all of which were impossible at the time. Not only was my schedule crammed with meetings, but I also work in an open office where walls are inexistent, therefore preventing any private conversations from taking place, let alone an introductory one. Eventually we agreed to meet the following day at a café. Keep in mind that although he knew exactly what I look like, to me this was a blind date.

When I arrived, he was already waiting for me. He recognized me right away, introduced himself, we shook hands and he kissed me on both cheeks. Bad, bad, bad! Major faux pas if there was ever one, you never kiss a girl you meet for the first time. How gross! We ordered coffee and went to sit by the beach. By that time, he had removed his sunglasses in the hope that I would do the same so that he could further check me out and ensure there was nothing unpleasant hidden behind them. Unfortunately, this was the hottest, brightest, sunniest day of the entire year; I simply could not remove my sunglasses without risking getting blind. It obviously did not impress him much. However, by then I was drenched with perspiration, and my only desire was to hit the pool as fast as I could. My singlehood was the least of my worries.

All and all, he wasn’t bad. He was all right, you know… nice. Not amazing, average. He was by no mean a loser. But he was the kind of guy scared of getting old. He was as tall as I, which is bad given that at best of time, I wear four-inch heels. I have to give him that, he had beautiful eyes. The conversation was hard coming, for even though he had initiated contact, he was trying to play mysterious and withhold the most pathetic of information. Thankfully this meeting was only supposed to last half hour. It’s easier to look forward to the next one, rather than hope eternity could somehow come to an end. Until then, he had been spectacularly blah, regrettably that was not to last. A surge of typical Vancouverite male hit him. “How is it possible that such a beautiful woman like you is not married?” meaning - what’s wrong with you? Well… Where should I start? Or the most typical “Do you have a lover then? I mean, how do you satisfy your personal needs?” I should be shocked, but I’ve heard that one from almost every man who ever talked to me or any of my girlfriends. “I manage just fine.”

“Is it something you ever considered?” Let me guess, you would be ready to sacrifice yourself to the greater good! On that evening, Vancouver reached an unprecedented 35˚c. There was not a gust of wind or a cloud in the sky. My brain was frying, my patience was running low and I was starting to smell like a three-day old dead trout. “Well, if I was looking for an occasional lover to satisfy my needs, I would be looking for the Paul Newman type my friend, not Jiminy Cricket.” And then there was the pool.