Two days ago, I wrote about the little things that keep a relationship alive and today’s post is going to make you scratch your head and say, “What?”
In my defense, I’ll say that being in a relationship doesn’t render you blind, or less appreciative of the hotness we encounter from time to time.
Read on and find out what I’m talking about!
This morning at the supermarket, as I dug through the mango bin hoping to find one that was “just right”, I had an “ahh” moment.
Not an Oprah “aha” moment, but an “aah” moment (I claim ownership for this exression).
This “aah” moment resulted from the fact that standing a mere foot away from me was the sexiest six feet of eye candy I have ever seen.
Dark, beautiful, wavy hair that could rival “McDreamy’s”, eyes as blue as the sky, and shoulders so broad, they’d make lesser men weep.
“Excuse me,” he said.
“Yes, I’ll have your baby. Yes, you can have my number. Yes, I’ll leave the Significant Other. Yes, I’ll go with you wherever, whenever, forever, till death do us part.” (You didn’t see what the guy looked like, so don’t judge.)
As I waited for him to continue speaking, I happened to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirrored pillar in front of me.
And this is what I saw:
Flyaway hair swept up in a hair clip, body clothed in a pair of old gray sweats and a ripped white tee, and a face devoid of any makeup.
I looked like road kill, to say the least.
What could he possibly want with me?
For a moment I thought he was an evolved species; the type that sees past physical appearance and appreciates true beauty; the inner kind.
Or maybe he’s was intuitive and suspected that under this appaling outfit lay an empowered, intelligent, creative, and yes, sexy woman.
Because intelligence makes a woman sexy.
As does a vivid imagination, generosity of spirit, a compassionate nature, and the desire to defend the underdog.
Because sexy comes in all ages, shapes and sizes.
I was sexy, damn it.
And somehow this smoking hot stranger knew it too.
Somehow he’d picked up on it, in spite of my disheveled appearance.
In spite of the uncoiffed hair.
In spite of the torn neckline of my four dollar t-shirt.
Finally, the man of my dreams.
The beautiful protagonist from my alternate reality; one unlike any other.
He was here.
Standing in front of me.
Ready to acknowledge I was the other number 2 of his 2+2.
I was giddy with anticipation.
Ready to say, “You had me at ‘Excuse me’.”
Breathlessly, I waited for him to speak.
“Excuse me,” he said again.
“Do you know what time the store closes?”
Wordlessly, I went back to digging in the mango bin.