Ahhhh, me last summer, traveling with the Dooooders, doing what we do best. Today the sun came out, thank god.
But let me tell you about yesterday!
There I was at the gym, spacing out, watching
Chopped on Food Network and pretty much done working out, just walking on the treadmill and not wanting to go home when . . .
"Hi, Natalie!" I look over and it's Shawn, looking, as always, about as cute as a button.
"Hey, Shawn," I said. This day, might I add, I had also elected to NOT shower, and my hair was going on day four and smelling not unlike a barnyard animal, but at least the zit was gone. I'll happily add that I'd brushed my teeth and had deodorant on. "You're here late," I noted as it was 5:30 p.m., and he'd mentioned the other day that his new job gets him out by 3:00. He was all smiles, again, as if I were his best friend on the planet. Before I knew it, 30 min. had passed by, with him happily chatting away. I wondered, was I keeping him from working out? Not really. He was the one doing most of the talking.
His friend, Russ, came around the corner.
"Hey, did you finish your cardio?" Russ asked. Shawn told him he had, but really, it appeared that he had just spent that time conversing with me instead. "Well, you gonna hit the shower soon?" he asked. Shawn joked that he was, but that there was no hurry. Russ said something I couldn't make out because I was trying not to stare at Shawn's pretty eyes and failing. I figured they were going to go play basketball or something, so I asked him what they were doing.
"We're going to Wobbly Bobby's for a beer. Wanna go?" I almost flew off my treadmill. He. Was. Asking. Me. To. Go. Seriously? Hell yeah!
We agreed to meet in 30 min. At first, I almost ran out of there wearing my gym top, which was salt-stained down the back and smelled like ass. Then I realized if they were going to shower, the least I could do was make a half-hearted attempt to look like a girl, so I flew home, put on a pretty top, a spray of perfume and instead of wearing my practical "Dyke Shoes," (a sturdy pair of MEN'S Merrils that JJ hates), I put on some cute gender-friendly shoes. 30 min. later I'm walking into Wobbly's, and there's Shawn, looking as cute as cute can be.
AND, not wearing a baseball cap, I might add, so I can see that, ta-da, he actually has hair! I wanted to hug him for asking me along.
At first, it was just us (I don't even remember what we talked about I was on cloud nine), so we chatted until Russ came. Since it was a booth, I was confused. Should I sit across from Shawn? Should Russ sit with me? I invited him to sit with me, so I could still be across from Shawn, but Russ said to go ahead and sit with Shawn. They're huge booths, so it wasn't like our legs were touching, but still, it was electrifying. I wondered how we looked sitting together, imagining us as an old couple holding hands at Perkins after church, and at times in our conversation, I felt like I'd floated out of my body to a cloud, maybe up in heaven per say?
That is, until his friend went in to a 30 min. plot synopsis of a new movie. Don't you hate that? If they spill out every spoiler, what's the point of them saying every ten seconds, "Oh! You've GOT to see this movie!" If this were one of MY friends, I'd have listened politely for about 1 minute, then told him to shut up. But Shawn must be VERY patient for I felt I had to listen like he was, nodding my head, saying, "Hmmmm. Rilly? Then what?" every few seconds. 30 minutes later (or was it an hour?), I was ready to jump off a bridge. His friend started replaying dialogue from the whole movie, including facial expressions and mimicking bad accents. Then I reminded myself. I. AM. SITTING. NEXT. TO. SHAWN. Who cares?!!!!!
Until Shawn made up a little game, "What's your favorite top 5 movies of all time?" Russ went first. We all laughed, teased each other, bantered. Much of their favorite movies were my favorite movies, too. Until I dropped a little turd in the punch bowl.
"The last movie I went to was pretty dumb, so I shouldn't say what it was," I stupidly ventured.
"What was it?" Shawn asked so sweetly that before I knew it, the turd flew outta my mouth.
"Jackass III."
Deadpan faces. Uh-oh. Suddenly the bar was too quiet. A fly landed on our table.
Apparently, that was the wrong answer. "Nooooo, w-a-i-t," I stammered. "My bad. It was
The King's Speech," I added, hoping that they didn't think I was the intellectual equivalent of an amoeba.
"Now, that was a good one," Shawn noted. I sighed with relief. I'm an idiot but a quick thinker.
There was LOTS of laughter. The time flew. Shawn and his buddy are quick-witted and intelligent. VERY quick-witted and intelligent. So much so that 1-2 times, I laughed heartily, slapping my thighs, at some quips they made where I had NO IDEA what they were talking about.
Before I knew it, it was 9:00 p.m., and we were paying our tabs to go home. I wondered, will Shawn chit chat with me, alone, or will they both walk together to their respective cars (after all, I'm the new guy, the 3rd wheel)? It was like a drum-roll in my gut.
After noting my bike, the two of them said goodbye and walked back together to their respective cars, sigh. Alas, no alone time with my sweet "friend." And I know that the best relationships are those that start off as friends, so I gotta be patient. I've learned a lot these past ten years of hermitry. BUT . . . . I know that I adore him and find him irresistibly cute. But when he looks at me, what does he see? A schoolmarm, an old chick, a dork, a dude-chick, someone with bad breath and greasy hair? I figured out his age within 1-2 years, and he's about 5-6 years younger than me, which is always how I like 'em.
Which begs the question, what are we? Are we just bros? What is going on in his head? Does he look at me and is reminded of his mother's sister, his prude-ish 8th grade English teacher, his Sunday school teacher who always smelled like moldy cheese? Does he think I'm a "Dude-chick"?
Stay tuned.
