I feed the parking meter and enter what appears to be a "dead" Starbucks. My barista (who's cute in a goofy class clown kind of way) takes my order in what he calls his "Kermit the Frog voice." Surprisingly, it's an uncanny impression - good enough to make me laugh. I should mention that laughing is my favorite activity, hands down. If a man can make me laugh with his wit and a creative use of the English language he's well on his way to making me fall for him.
I cozy up to a table by the door. This is a great spot, as I have a direct line of sight should any good-looking, witty men enter the Starbucks. I chose this spot not only for this reason, but because there is a gentleman sitting right behind me who could have potential. He's chosen the most comfy chair in the joint - the big cushy kind that even looks inviting. However, he's also sitting facing the wall so I have no idea what his face looks like. The back of his head is nice and makes me wonder if the front is as attractive. I hope he will either turn around or leave so I can make an accurate assessment (and steal his chair). On a side note, the music is a little funky. It's nothing that I recognize and I don't think I particularly care for it.
I determine that most of the traffic in this Starbucks is the on-the-go crowd. Very few people linger. They seem to grab their coffees/lattes/baked goodies and go. It's ok. Perhaps a witty hottie will stop in to grab and go. I observe people from all walks of life coming and going in this Starbucks, and I realize that Starbucks has quickly become quite the cultural center of our neighborhoods. I love this. Two older men come in together chatting about the events of the moment. They say hello to me - probably because I'm sitting by the door. What, am I the "Starbucks Greeter?" They must be regulars as the baristas seem to know them. Then, the funniest thing happens. They each take a newspaper and sit on opposite sides of the Starbucks... like they don't even know each other. I'm perplexed.
A young lady clearly on her way to the gym enters and I'm a little thrown by her. This is not the granola chick I expected. She is carrying a lovely Coach bag, wearing running shoes and running pants (the kind you know are running pants because they're like a second-skin). All well and good, but sadly, she has caked her face with make-up that makes her look as if she's not going to the gym but rather West 6th instead. She's also spent far too much time creating the world's most perfect ponytail. This is why I don't go to the gym and prefer to run outside. I refuse to doll myself up to work out. It's just not right. She's probably not even a runner, but thought the gear was"super cute" and spent way too much money to impress the meat heads at Urban Active. However, she still looks cute... bitch. Another woman walks in to grab and go. She is wearing an orange Harley Davidson jacket, navy blue and red velour pants and a black winter hat with a fuzzy ball on top. I am suddenly uplifted. My life could be much worse. I could be wearing that.
In the meantime, at a table just on the fringes of earshot, there are two ladies engaged in a conversation. I struggle to eavesdrop over the funky music and only hear a few pieces of their conversation. Those words/phrases include: "Therapist," "She says I'm smart," "Diaphragm," "Sex," and "Strangle." Oh boy. My mind wanders and now I want to hear more of their conversation. I start to giggle to myself, which turns into a literal LOL. I quickly stifle my laughter - which if you know me at all, you know is incredibly difficult.
Oh, by the way, I've given up hope of ever seeing the face of the man behind me. He hasn't turned around nor gotten up to leave. He's either completely engrossed in what he's doing, or he's dead. But now I don't care. An attractive man in his late 40's walks in the door. He smiles at me. I'm intrigued. He's a little "mature" for my taste but whatever, I can work with this for now. I smile back. He orders his coffee and smiles again. He "fixes" his coffee and smiles yet again. I casually smile back. He walks towards the door (which is conveniently where I'm sitting) says "have a nice day" and leaves. Damn. Well, there's my ego boost for the day... or so I thought.
Like a ray of light in the darkness, I see a breath of fresh air walking through the parking lot and he enters the Starbucks. Because I’m directly in his line of sight, we make eye contact and he smiles. He is dressed very appropriately for a chilly, yet sunny Sunday afternoon – casual, but not too casual, jeans in a perfect hue, and a ¾-length wool coat. He has perfectly messy hair that I could easily run my fingers through and I'm positive he's not just cute but witty as well. Having not seen a lot of action today in Starbucks, I start to wonder if he’s a mirage. Could it be? Have I possibly found love with my latte? He smiles at me – this is not a smile that intrigues me, but a smile that makes me tingly – and validates that the blond highlights I paid a small fortune for yesterday are indeed eye-catching, and were infact a good idea. He orders two coffees – bad sign. I think (i.e. hope) that the second cup of coffee is not for a female companion but instead for his mother... who is an invalid... who he sees on Sundays to bring her coffee since she can't leave the house. How sweet of him - how amazingly thoughtful! He waits for his two coffees and turns slightly, giving me a second glance and a smile. I give him a casual half-smile in return. He turns back towards the counter.
Just then an attractive girl walks in. She saunters right up to him, puts her arm around his waist and leans in to give him a kiss on the cheek… buzz kill. They leave together holding hands and he smiles at me on his way out. Bastard. Men who are attached should not physically be able to smile at anyone who has a vagina.
With that it's time to go. My cup is empty and my meter is timing out.
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