Thursday
Monday
When it rains, it pours
I know, it's been forever since I've posted. My bad. I've been taking a little hiatus from boys in general.
A cycle needed to be broken. I had to stop running back and forth, to and from my knight in shining whatever's arms. I am proud to say I have. I may have had to delete his phone number from my phone, delete him from my msn, and remove him from my facebook friends. I was cold when I spoke to him, and sharp and now I hear from him no more. Thank goodness!
I needed a break. And lots of space to clear my cloudy head. A month later here we are.
---
Superman and I have had some pretty awkward encounters at my editor's. Fumbling with words: mine. Expelling ill-timed compliments: his. And generally bashfully dancing around some blushing and coy smiles. A month later I've left my job there, partly due to editor's salacious indecency, armed with a weapon I've yet to use: Superman's phone number. I'll just tuck that away in my pocket for a rainy day.
---
Now onto more important things.
There is this boy, that I'm enamored with. Like I'm crazy about him, no exaggeration. Think about when the Little Mermaid meets Prince Eric. (For a more recent point of reference: think Lisa Simpson when she meets Colin in The Simpson's Movie.) It's ridiculous. I'm a total idiot about and around him. And we have this decidedly romantic past, and I may or may not have his picture in my wallet. I'm a mushy melted image of what used to be a rational and intelligent woman, all because of him.
So I'm thrilled (and my friends are skeptically so) when I hear he's home from being away. Yup, he's back from doing his Master's at a most prestigious British university and from being a scientist. So let's call him the Scientist because I think it's quite cute to think of him as a Scientist. tee hee. Now I'm running away with myself, back to the point...
Which is, that this morning I open my MSN and see he's online. I message him and he writes back, "darling, can we get together this week?" I'm a puddle at the keys of my macbook. "I know the best place to get a green tea ice cap" (that was one of 'our' things). "call me this week." I'm not sure any rational human being can rescue me from my extreme giddiness. I'm pretty much glowing. It's like happiness is just running right through me. I may have been liable to jump around and do a happy dance. It wasn't pretty, but it sure felt great!
---
Icing.
My mom and I hit up one of my favourite Yonge and Eligible restaurants, and does it ever deliver more than yummy Italian favourites, it seems my dreamy, charismatic, charming and buff waiter wants more than just to serve us.
As I wait for our table, he tries to manage a smile from me and probes me for details about my life, "why are you downtown?" "are you always so fashionable?" "if it's cold enough for boots, where is your jacket?" and then he utters the most ill-fathomed word, heard in many contexts but which always produces that irrefutable sting, "princess" he coughs with what I can only assume is intended to be an endearing smile and wink.
We are seated, miraculously at the other side of the restaurant.
That is, until the lady behind me engages us ALL in a diatribe of her gossipy social woes. We have to move, my Mother decides. And move we do, right into his section. "To what do I owe this extreme pleasure?" He swoons.
As I ask about the porcini cream sauce, "Does that mean it's mushroom?" He replies, without skipping a beat (and on bended knee as he takes my order), "why, yes! Yes I am single." Trying not to blush and barely managing to keep composed I bite back a smile and say, "yes, I'll have that, please."
We are checked on incessantly, with the most attentive and gracious air, served with tid-bits about the following subjects:
a) how beautiful I am
b) that is all
always with an arm around my chair, his eyes looking into mine, words couched in the context of what a wonderful and eligible suitor he is, despite his one, self volunteered flaw: being Portuguese, not Italian.
As we leave, he pouts, "will I see you again?"
With a smile I manage a truthful, "maybe."
A cycle needed to be broken. I had to stop running back and forth, to and from my knight in shining whatever's arms. I am proud to say I have. I may have had to delete his phone number from my phone, delete him from my msn, and remove him from my facebook friends. I was cold when I spoke to him, and sharp and now I hear from him no more. Thank goodness!
I needed a break. And lots of space to clear my cloudy head. A month later here we are.
---
Superman and I have had some pretty awkward encounters at my editor's. Fumbling with words: mine. Expelling ill-timed compliments: his. And generally bashfully dancing around some blushing and coy smiles. A month later I've left my job there, partly due to editor's salacious indecency, armed with a weapon I've yet to use: Superman's phone number. I'll just tuck that away in my pocket for a rainy day.
---
Now onto more important things.
There is this boy, that I'm enamored with. Like I'm crazy about him, no exaggeration. Think about when the Little Mermaid meets Prince Eric. (For a more recent point of reference: think Lisa Simpson when she meets Colin in The Simpson's Movie.) It's ridiculous. I'm a total idiot about and around him. And we have this decidedly romantic past, and I may or may not have his picture in my wallet. I'm a mushy melted image of what used to be a rational and intelligent woman, all because of him.
So I'm thrilled (and my friends are skeptically so) when I hear he's home from being away. Yup, he's back from doing his Master's at a most prestigious British university and from being a scientist. So let's call him the Scientist because I think it's quite cute to think of him as a Scientist. tee hee. Now I'm running away with myself, back to the point...
Which is, that this morning I open my MSN and see he's online. I message him and he writes back, "darling, can we get together this week?" I'm a puddle at the keys of my macbook. "I know the best place to get a green tea ice cap" (that was one of 'our' things). "call me this week." I'm not sure any rational human being can rescue me from my extreme giddiness. I'm pretty much glowing. It's like happiness is just running right through me. I may have been liable to jump around and do a happy dance. It wasn't pretty, but it sure felt great!
---
Icing.
My mom and I hit up one of my favourite Yonge and Eligible restaurants, and does it ever deliver more than yummy Italian favourites, it seems my dreamy, charismatic, charming and buff waiter wants more than just to serve us.
As I wait for our table, he tries to manage a smile from me and probes me for details about my life, "why are you downtown?" "are you always so fashionable?" "if it's cold enough for boots, where is your jacket?" and then he utters the most ill-fathomed word, heard in many contexts but which always produces that irrefutable sting, "princess" he coughs with what I can only assume is intended to be an endearing smile and wink.
We are seated, miraculously at the other side of the restaurant.
That is, until the lady behind me engages us ALL in a diatribe of her gossipy social woes. We have to move, my Mother decides. And move we do, right into his section. "To what do I owe this extreme pleasure?" He swoons.
As I ask about the porcini cream sauce, "Does that mean it's mushroom?" He replies, without skipping a beat (and on bended knee as he takes my order), "why, yes! Yes I am single." Trying not to blush and barely managing to keep composed I bite back a smile and say, "yes, I'll have that, please."
We are checked on incessantly, with the most attentive and gracious air, served with tid-bits about the following subjects:
a) how beautiful I am
b) that is all
always with an arm around my chair, his eyes looking into mine, words couched in the context of what a wonderful and eligible suitor he is, despite his one, self volunteered flaw: being Portuguese, not Italian.
As we leave, he pouts, "will I see you again?"
With a smile I manage a truthful, "maybe."
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