Miss Kitty's iphone vibrated against her martini glass. It seemed her other partner in crime, a.k.a. the husband (I'll call him
Partner of
Kitty or "PK" for brevity's sake) was on his way to meet us at this, their local bar.
Mere minutes later, PK sidled up to our table, mystery friend in tow. His name was Jimmy, he'd grown up with PK, and just recently returned to his home state after a lengthy hiatus. Within 15 minutes, we'd discovered a shared love of travel, expensive bourbon and multi-syllabic vocabulary words. He had brains, wit, a sense of humor--my ultimate triumvirate--and the #1 sexiest accessory ever, always gets my attention and doesn't let go: glasses. May I just say: "Grrrrrrrrrrr!"
I managed to fire off a couple quickie texts to Miss Kitty under the table while the lads were distracted with some contentious sporting event on the bar tvs behind them.
"Is he single?!" (yes)
"Do you think he'd be interested?" (to which Miss Kitty gave her typical roll of the eyes and a look that could only be interpreted as 'PUH-LEEZE!!!')
At least she could finally see that I am
capable of being interested in someone. She's been quick to point out that I'm not attracted to 99.9% of my 'options'.
The guys ran into some other fellas they knew and off they disappeared into the evening without further ado. A love connection just wasn't in the cards that night.
*****
About 3 months later, Miss Kitty texts me with a 911:
"picking you up in 20 minutes-- we're meeting my man and Jimmy for dinner."
As it happened, I'd just been reading the latest issue of
In Style and waiting for my nail varnish to dry, so give me 23, I'm all over it: "Ready in two shakes of a lamb's tail."
...1 restaurant, 2 bars, 3 more friends, 4+ hours and 5 or so drinks later... a clear attraction had emerged. Jimmy and I had exchanged some sultry looks, much witty repartee, and cell numbers to which we had been madly texting each other amidst our crowd throughout the evening. The guy was as smart as I thought, fun, funny, and I wondered why he was still single. Before I figured the answer to that query, the party relocated to my house. One by one, people disappeared and I asked Jimmy if he wanted to take our libations to the roof. It was a perfect summer night--warm with clear skies, and I thought I might literally, thank the stars above.
After a smidge more chit-chat, he positioned himself closer to me. He rubbed my back and ran his hands over my long hair. He leaned over and kissed me. And kissed me some more. Then he leaned back and pulled me onto him. Yes, I was straddling him...on the roof. (It sounds way hotter than it is...I mean, these are asphalt shingles, ladies! However, I can tell you from past experience, stacked terra cotta is just as dangerous, but again, I digress. Suffice to say, I had to wear longer-than-knee-length skirts for weeks to hide the bruises and scrapes.)
He whispered something in my ear about my dress (who knows, like I said, I was drunk), as he tried to maneuver through the skirt and slip underneath. I may have been intoxicated, but I'm no tart, so he wasn't getting any assistance. I decided it was getting late and that we should call it a night. I figured if he was genuinely interested, there'd be plenty of time for wild rooftop hanky panky. He staggered down the block, headed to his digs for the night and soon texted me: "night."
My response? "Don't let the bed-bugs bite!"
To which he replied: "I hope not, cause I'm naked." Gotta love guys who never know where to draw the line. T.M.I...I didn't respond.
And I never heard from him again.
So, he couldn't be that smart. Had he played his cards right...
****
Last month, I returned home to the results of a record snow-fall and the daunting task of carving out a parking spot for my car. Despite the size of my shovel, I felt like I was emptying a playground sandpit with a teaspoon. I noticed a guy across the street with a snow blower, clearing the sidewalks. He waved me down and hollered that he'd come help. Heh, chivalry isn't dead after all; how 'bout that? He and the snowblower made their way across the street and he reiterated that he could clear my parking spot for me, lickety split. Though I know all the neighbors on my block, I didn't recognize this guy. He seemed somehow familiar, but I couldn't place him. He said he was doing a favor for a friend, clearing the sidewalks. I didn't care how or why he was there, just that he was willing to knock out in 5 minutes would would have taken me 5 hours.
And then it hit me.
"I'm Jim--" I cut him short.
"I know who you are!" I nodded with a look I hope conveyed something along the lines of 'yeah, you stupid twat, I'm the fabulous gal you made out with on that roof right there and then promptly forgot.'
I went back to shoveling my walkway and he quickly fired up the snowblower and cleared the spot for my car. When he finished, he approached and asked "Yeah, so, when WAS that summer?" like it was some acid flashback from the 60's he was trying to place.
"Six months ago," I looked up and confirmed, folding my lips in on each other and bobbing my head up and down.
He looked dumbfounded. "Man! Seems like three years ago..." he trailed off with a chuckle and I looked forward, deadpan stare, nonplussed.
He stammered for a moment..."Yeah, I've been laying low for a few months..."
"Oh," I said with mock understanding and cocked my head to the side.
It occurred to me at that moment that Miss Kitty
had mentioned a few months ago that he'd met some tatoo artist a couple months after the aforementioned roof incident and had fallen instantly "in love" and moved in with this girl, yet already wanted to break up with her, but hadn't yet figured out his exit strategy. Lucky me, dodged a bullet.
"Well, thanks again for the help," I turned my back to him and kept shoveling.
And despite the lack of snow, I continue shovelling...
