Startled I was to hear the resounding sound of a deep deep male voice
I almost dropped the bottle of Shiraz in my hand.
“2006 is generally a good year you know”. He said.
I turned to my left and was delightfully greeted by the most adorable set of dimples on the corner of his lips.
A grin spread through my face as I thought of a clever respond to this astonishingly good looking stranger. But I was dumbfounded. He was looking at me, like he was studying my features.
“Dinner party?” He enquired.
“Yeah, my boss’s birthday,” I replied. It was utter, complete bollocks. I was going to drown my heartbreak with a bunch of drunk idiots I call friends.
“What about you?” I continued the flow of the conversation.
“Ah, I pick up women at the alcohol section of Cold Storage; they tend to be a bit more of a challenge.” He answered, in jest. Oh my, handsome AND witty.
“That’s kind of creepy you know.” I laughed.
“Yeah, but at least I got a smile out of you. You looked so serious I thought you were going to sit through an exam on wine one o one.” He retorted, still gazing intently at me. Made me wonder if I had chili stuck between my braces.
I stared right back at him. His eyes, they seemed to have no depth. Any other fool would have gotten lost in them.
Suddenly, his expression changed. Like he just had an a-ha instant. One of those moments in cartoon strips with an exclamation mark upon a thinking cloud.
“You’re that girl in the blue Honda.” His tone seemed laced with excitement.
Oh boy, stalker alert.
“Excuse me?” I jumped backwards slightly.
“You drive a blue Honda don’t you?” He repeated, the excitement in his voice elevating. Shoppers around us were starting to notice.
“Errr ….”
Why are all the good looking ones weird psychos, if not taken or gay!
“Okay, you look freaked out. Maybe you don’t remember. About a year or so ago, I passed you my card while …”
Then it dawned on me. Let’s rewind to last year, a week before Valentine’s day. I was driving towards an infamously busy cross-intersection, on my way out to lunch. The notoriety stuck by. And my favourite song came on the radio. What was a girl left to do in the middle of a long train of traffic? Why, groove of course. Like a dork I danced without inhibitions on my driver seat and sang aloud to the music of Mary J. Blige. And MAYBE I got a little too carried away.
By the time I realized that there were entertained drivers in the cars around mine, it was too late. I had already launched into a series of motions that would have put William Hung to shame. I saw smirks and giggles from all angles of my mirrors.
Why oh WHYYY do I always put myself in these embarrassing situations? I asked myself.
The light turned green. But there was still an extensive queue further up. This would mean that I would nevertheless be stuck with these very amused people around me.
So I maneuvered my car to the left, filtered out of the line and headed towards a free road.
Phew. Or so I thought.
No more than 50 meters of escaping the ridiculous jam, a black BMW raced so close it was barely two inches away on my right. I panicked. What was happening? Did someone lose control of the car? Or something bad was about to happen to me in broad daylight?
The passenger window rolled down …
Fast forward back to the wine aisle.
He said, “Okay, you look freaked out. Maybe you don’t remember. About a year or so ago, I passed you my card while we were both driving. It was near _____”
Yes. See he rolled down his passenger window, leaned way over, passed me his name card and shouted through the wind resistance of both our moving cars, “CALL ME”.
“Oh my gawd you REMEMBERED how I look like?!” I exclaimed. Now it my voice that was a tad too loud.
“You were too cute to forget, and you were unafraid to be yourself, which is rare. I was really hoping you’d call. I’m _________ by the way.” He said, extending a hand.
“(My name). I lost your card …” I began to cover up, taking on his gesture. Ooh, such tender manliness.
“Hahahaha. Its okay. No sensible girl would have risked some crazy guy who chased her on the street.” He blushed. Awww so sweet.
“That’s the thing, I’m not.” I countered.
“Not what?” He looked confused.
“Sensible. I’m not usually sensible. Give me your card again ….”
“Oh no,” he persisted, “you are not getting away this time. Give me YOUR number,” and whipped out his mobile, ready to key in the digits.
It was my turn to blush.
