You know…the whole girly…friendly…wardrobe…makeover scene looks a lot more fun in my telenovelas and spy dramas than it is in real life.
Most things worth looking at weren’t in my size.
There were no fun and carefree employees to referee their bickering.
And most importantly, I didn’t get a magical “this is it”, cue the change in music moment.
No.
I got a “can we wrap this up ‘cause Lionel forgot to grab our son from his piano lesson again” frame cut.
Perhaps the nightmare shopping experience should’ve been my signnotto come on this date?
This date that hepushed backby an hour.
Maybethatshould’ve been my red flag that convinced me to cancel.
Come to my senses.
Gently reject the behemoth of a man who probably can’t spell behemoth because it wasn’t on this week’s spelling test.
Gahhhhhh…what am I doing?!
Did someone spike my white mocha with benzos?!
Am I suffering from paradoxical side effects?!
Vibrations rattle my small black clutch prompting me to quickly check the device causing them.
Unfortunately for me, the photo of my nieces and nephew splashing around in the beach water with my big brother only reinforces the idea of retreating.
Of getting back into my car.
Going home.
Ditching this dress.
Reclaiming my couch.
Curling up and watching old episodes ofThe MentalistorPerson of Interestwhere I can simply get lost intheircomplicated, romantic storylines versus trying to untangle my own.
“Wow,” breathlessly coos a voice that never fails to make my knees wobble. “You look like the lyrics come to life of a Four Tops song.”
It’s impossible not to beam brightly at the suspender wearing mountain of a man as he arrives directly in front of me. “And which one in particular are you thinking about?”
“’Can’t Help Myself’ would be the easy glove save,” Thayne casually proclaims, grin growing and growing and growing, encouraging the warmth in my chest to spread like wildfire, “and ‘Baby I Need Your Loving’ would be a respectable block. Hell, even ‘Ain’t No Woman’ could get me a stick taps from the boys…” One hand nonchalantly captures my empty palm. “But I’m gonna go for the butterfly.”
“And that is…?”
“We talkin’ for hockey or for song choices?”
“I know what it is in hockey,” I sassily state back. “Knees down, feet flared but not tucked towards the ass because that makes it difficult to control the rebound.”
His white dress shirt covered torso slightly crumbles. “You tryin’ to get me to propose already, Gillybean?”
“You got a ring?”
“I will find the nearest store right now.” He slyly lifts my hand up to plant a kiss on the back of it. “Don’t threaten me with Hall & Oates.”
