It was while I was standing in the check-out lane at the drugstore when he walked in.
He was about six foot and rugged with brown messy hair. Had a little GQ thing going for him. He was wearing a graphic tee that was partially tucked in at the right place. Dark jeans with worn-out areas appropriately scattered. A hip guy who was most likely running in to buy condoms. I couldn’t decide if his hot date was going to be with a girl or another guy.
I stood there in line holding one of those dorky shopping baskets. It was filled with moisturizer, toothpaste, deodorant, and clear fingernail polish. Yup, pretty boring. For a split second I thought about dumping the basket’s boring contents and replacing it with something more exciting. Maybe like a box of Trojans. Thought it’d make me look less boring. Willing. Available. But I really needed the toothpaste since I ran out just that morning. And even though moisturizer isn’t a great lure, it is a great necessity.
Walking through the automatic doors, he saw someone he knew.
Another guy. A guy who had just purchased his own basket of items. I became interested in this union. I wondered what they were talking about. How did they know each other? As much as I would love to describe how the other guy looked, I was too blinded by Guy #1’s hotness. Memory of the other guy is only a blur.
I finally advanced to the front of the check-out line. This was a good move since it allowed me to overhear the private conversation. Standing there talking, my boyfriend’s hands were casually tucked into the pockets of his stylish-way-cool jeans. He seemed friendly. He smiled a lot. He gave off a good vibe. I was hooked.
The cashier kept talking to me. She would NOT shut up. Why is it that usually I get a bitter, socially inept cashier who hates her job and her life, but this time I get Ms. Personality? Doesn’t she realize that my nosey-self is trying to get the scoop on my new lover? Doesn’t she understand that by talking to me, she’s jeopardizing my chances with my future fiancé? Doesn’t she know that the father of my unborn children is only a mere five feet away from me? The nerve. How rude. Help a sista out, wont ya?
I obviously looked uninterested in Ms. Chatty’s ramblings because she soon quieted down.
Thank God. Now I can spy in peace. I have to admit I was hoping to hear “Just thought I’d stop by the drugstore in hopes of finding a girl named Becca who I will adore and cherish for the rest of our lives.” But I didn’t.
Blurry guy: So dude, whatcha been up to?
Hot guy: Dude, not much. Just got finished serving my community service.
Great. Community service. How come I always pick the bad boys? How come I intuitively seek the ones with a rap sheet or personal issues or a bad attitude? This happens over and over and over and over again. I scare myself. Really. I can pick them out of a crowd.
I would much rather him say, “I saved a lost puppy this morning, mailed my grandmother her birthday present and I think I’ll spend the evening at home watching old reruns of ‘Chico and the Man’.”
He would have had me at “lost puppy.”
This is why I don’t trust myself. I don’t trust my instinct.
Just when I start to like you, you’re going to tell me about the 12 years you spent in prison because of murder. Or embezzlement. Or robbing a bank. The tattoo on your arm I thought was cute will turn out to be some gang symbol.
Ok, maybe it’s never been that bad. At least no one’s ever told me about serving time, but I wouldn’t put it past some of them. Maybe I should consider becoming a prisoner’s pen pal. At least I’d know up front what the scoop is.
My new lover and I never made it past those five minutes.
The happy-go-lucky cashier put my purchases in a white plastic bag with the words “THANK YOU! THANK YOU! THANK YOU!” printed in blue on one side. I then headed over to Home Depot and bought insect-repellant yard spray and bathtub caulk.
The next morning as I ridded my yard of fleas, beetles and other nasty things, I thought about my ex-drugstore-boyfriend. I thought about how I pick out the bad boys when all I want is a good one. In an epiphany I realized that I liked the idea of someone adventuresome because I find my life incredibly boring. Here I was spraying my yard and about to caulk my tub when I really would rather be riding on the back of a Harley screaming back at the wind.
Great. Now it looks like I have two problems.
I’m sure my ex-baby-daddy has gone on with his life. I’m sure he’s not suffering from the break-up. I hope he learned something from his community service and stays out of trouble.
Who knows… maybe we’ll meet again. But he better not be wearing an orange jumpsuit.
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