"I didn't know there was a speed limit," he said (like he'd been waiting all his life to do so). The line itself was bad enough, but his wink afterwards was almost a capital offense.
Not again, she thought. I can't do this again. She instinctively glanced toward the bar's exit, toward freedom, toward her comforter and her cats and her TV.
His picture had jumped out at her, but she was suspicious of pictures. She was a voice girl -- let her hear them for five minutes and she could tell whether they actually looked like the picture. Whether they had mommy issues. Whether they had three other regular girls. Whether those shining locks were a hairpiece.
He passed the phone test with ease. They stayed on for one hour and one minute. She made an excuse to go so she didn't use all her best material before the date.
When she stood outside the bar three nights later and watched the man approach, she thought, Please let this be him, Please let this be him.
When they ordered wine she made a mental list of witty anecdotes to share.
And then the trouble started. His first comments about her meeting his dogs and his parents flew by with only a mild scent of creepiness. It was when he talked about "wintering" together upstate that the smoke alarm in her head went off. He actually used the word "wintering."
"And eventually," he said, with a flick of the wrist, "I want to teach our kids -- "
Her smoke alarm cut him off. "Slow down there, Andretti. We just met."
"I didn't know there was a speed limit." And the wink.
She didn't want to leave the wine, so she gulped it down in one massive sip. Then she put her foot on the gas and tried not to run out the door.
Monday, March 31, 2008
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