I can’t think of a better place to be on a rainy day than inside a bookstore, snuggled up against a window, reading books for free. That’s where I was this past Sunday during brunch time. I had just come from getting a massage at Burke Williams that made me feel like I was Audrey Hepburn in Sabrina, listening to Parisian music, smelling lavender and jasmine, and having my naked back kneaded into jelly as I lay face down inside a warm, dimly lit room. I’d woken up in a great mood that day, listening to rain trickle down my copper rain chain just outside my bedroom, and decided to head off to my spa appointment a bit earlier than scheduled so that I could take in the peace and tranquility of the spa for longer than the duration of my massage, which was only an hour. So I left my house at 8:30am and as I walked down Mills Alley in Pasadena in my hat and coat, bundled up with my scarf, I smelled freshly brewed coffee mixed in with the scent of cool rain, I spied old men writing in journals and reading the paper over a plate of crepes, and all of the “closed” signs on adjacent store fronts reminded me that most of the city was still in bed and only a handful of us had shown up to live. I love this city but I especially love it when I have a bigger share of it, like I did on Sunday morning. Without the hustle and bustle of a mass of people I can better appreciate the little things that really aren’t so little and should be appreciated. Like walking in the rain without a crowd, reading the paper over coffee and pastries during the wee hours of the morning, writing without the cacophony of traffic and chatter to distract you. Or maybe I’m just a morning person. Either way, Sunday was great. It was the best time I’d had on a Sunday in quite a while. And after my bookstore visit, I stopped into Zara and they were having a sale so I picked up two sweaters before heading home. I enjoyed myself so much, I’m thinking of doing it again if only I can drag myself out of bed to go…and if only it rained every Sunday.
Today, however, I am disappointed. I met someone and quickly decided that I liked him. He’s 40, 5’11, a trained chef, and identifies as ½ Colombian, ½ French Canadian, which most people would label as white but for some reason he does not. No matter, he’s cool and I’d had no expectations of him until he asked if he could call me yesterday. I was smiling at the thought, nervous about what we’d say to each other at first but then 5 o’clock rolled around, then 6 o’clock, then 7 and 8. At which point my smile was dead and I was beginning to think he wasn’t so cool after all. The last three guys I’ve met have all shown interest in me while I was minding my own business, opened me up to the idea of exploring more than _nothing_ with them, asked to call me…and then didn’t call when they said they would. The one before this one eventually called, and the one before that one is still confusing as hell. I’ve long since written that one off but he keeps popping up every now and then, as if to remind me that he’s still alive when I’d rather forget. Aint nobody got time for that © Sweet Brown. Sometimes I am convinced that men are more trouble than they’re worth. When I take the time to assess the value of a man the list is often short. I try to tell myself that’s because I haven’t met Him yet. I’d like to believe that He’s out there and that one day before I’m dead, when God feels it’s right, He and I will meet and it will be ordained, and I will smile and say to myself “it’s about time you showed up,” and be happy for the rest of my days. All I need is a trusted, faithful companion to grow and share with to mark off my To Do list. But noooo, these fools just have to be difficult. Why go to all of the trouble of bringing me out of my comfort zone, showing me interest, only to not follow through? I was minding my own business! Now I’m pissed. Ugh.
Today, however, I am disappointed. I met someone and quickly decided that I liked him. He’s 40, 5’11, a trained chef, and identifies as ½ Colombian, ½ French Canadian, which most people would label as white but for some reason he does not. No matter, he’s cool and I’d had no expectations of him until he asked if he could call me yesterday. I was smiling at the thought, nervous about what we’d say to each other at first but then 5 o’clock rolled around, then 6 o’clock, then 7 and 8. At which point my smile was dead and I was beginning to think he wasn’t so cool after all. The last three guys I’ve met have all shown interest in me while I was minding my own business, opened me up to the idea of exploring more than _nothing_ with them, asked to call me…and then didn’t call when they said they would. The one before this one eventually called, and the one before that one is still confusing as hell. I’ve long since written that one off but he keeps popping up every now and then, as if to remind me that he’s still alive when I’d rather forget. Aint nobody got time for that © Sweet Brown. Sometimes I am convinced that men are more trouble than they’re worth. When I take the time to assess the value of a man the list is often short. I try to tell myself that’s because I haven’t met Him yet. I’d like to believe that He’s out there and that one day before I’m dead, when God feels it’s right, He and I will meet and it will be ordained, and I will smile and say to myself “it’s about time you showed up,” and be happy for the rest of my days. All I need is a trusted, faithful companion to grow and share with to mark off my To Do list. But noooo, these fools just have to be difficult. Why go to all of the trouble of bringing me out of my comfort zone, showing me interest, only to not follow through? I was minding my own business! Now I’m pissed. Ugh.
No comments:
Post a Comment