I didn’t meet a very cute guy last night. Didn’t in the way of names or handshakes, but did in the way of my card. He was on his cell phone outside my lucky restaurant*. I was near the door with my friends, bundling, wrapping, and shoving fists into warm coat pockets. “Hold on ladies. I’ll be right back.” I dug into my handbag and pulled out something white. It wasn’t a rabbit. I clipped a card with two fingers, and then, I went for it. “Sorry to interrupt you,” I said and then smiled offering him my card, “but I couldn’t resist.” He was still on his phone, but he stopped talking, looked at my card and then back up at me. I turned back toward the girls, who were rubbernecking at the entire scene. “Stop staring,” I whispered through a smile.
“It was nice meeting you,” he yelled back. Okay, he yelled something back, but I can’t remember anymore. Hopefully he’ll find my email address and remind me. Yum.
* Lucky restaurant? I’ve heard of lucky bra or maybe some jewelry or a penny, but a restaurant? Come on. Well, it has been lucky for me. I met In a cab headed north boy there. What am I talking about? I still don’t know why I associate that story with luck. I guess I did “get lucky,” but you know, and I know, that’s not ever what I mean. That night will always be magical to me. I guess I just miss magic (read: magic, not trix).