Saturday night: A time warp text conversation. A relationship that missed its fruition. Tears. Uncountable vodka sodas.
Sunday morning: Press the snooze button. I make the decision this morning to not put on makeup to buy me more doze time. I reluctantly slither out of bed like a sloth.
First stop: refrigerator. Cold water.
Second stop: bathroom. Mirror...uh, oh.
Gotta throw out the sans makeup idea. There could be a chance I meet a boy today.
As I camouflage my love-forsaken, vampire face, I realize eyeliner does not prefer puffy lids.
On the train to meet my cousin, concentrating on my lack of sleep, I see two boys run into my car. One is your chill, surfer type and the other is simply, beautiful.
Double take. I close my eyes, too drained to attract the eye contact.
I open my eyes a few seconds later. They are coming my way. They sit right in front of me. I turn coy. The chill surfer type reaches into a plastic bag, pulls out a Quaker s'mores granola bar and postcard, and hands it to me. Score. My window for eye contact just opened! I graciously thank him and smile at him and Beautiful. I look down at the card and read it is an invite to Journeys church for Easter. Journeys has stuffed my mailbox with endless invitations to rejoice in their "alternative" Christian celebrations. Needless to say, I have rudely declined the mass mailer without an r.s.v.p...Never found alternative Christianity sexy enough to warrant my presence.
Boy, did they hire the right focus group to shift their marketing approach to arouse my attention!
So, Beautiful, after the awkward silence following the s'mores exchange, says to me, "Those are great shoes." Score. My window to finally charm with conversation just opened! Giggles and sharing of New York bios ensue. I know that my stop is coming up very soon, leaving no time for the choreography of storing a number into the Razor. I hand Beautiful my business card. He looks at me and says he would like to see me at the Journeys Easter alterna-bration. My stop. "So nice to meet you. Please come on Sunday, I would really love to see you there".
I point at my card in his hand, "Email me". Smile and wink.
Blasphemy! What would the retired Sisters that reared my Catholic education think of me going to another place of worship, solely to entertain visions of being manhandled?
I've entered a whole new realm in dating.
Sorry, Father, for I have sinned.