“Success usually comes to those who are too busy to be looking for it.” – Henry David Thoreau
We’ll see about that.
I went through my usual morning routine of flaked tuna serving and hot coffee ingesting, followed by clicking, reading, responding, and deleting. If I don’t look away from the screen regularly, everything other than my electronic life fades. So, I stare out my window and watch the busy worker bees at my neighbor’s home. This is one of those neighbors who needs to have some sort of project running at all times–paint this, plant that, stain this, clean that. Then, I notice the men in spotted white shirts drop their brushes and jaws.
Isn’t it funny how, when we notice someone distracted, it distracts us? We don’t want to miss out on it. There are times when I instinctively reach for my phone, in case there’s something potentially viral happening.
The distraction in this case, as typical, was a woman. She wore a tight white top, light blue yoga pants, a cap, and earbuds as she power-walked through my neighborhood. I doubt the workers distracted her. She certainly didn’t notice me gawking at her from behind glass. Yet, in that ten or so seconds, we four men all went through an assortment of futile fantasies.
- Maybe she’ll lift up her top and flash me.
- Maybe she’s famous.
- Maybe she’ll ask me if I’d like to have dinner with her.
- Maybe she’ll stop, bend over, and re-tie her sneakers.
- Maybe she’ll ask to borrow some sugar.
She had, at most, one thought:
- I wonder how much this poor owner is paying these swines to drool.
The aggressive male would have made a move. I could have sprinted into my closet, changed into sweats, and chased her down, hoping to have a casual conversation which could lead to sweaty post-workout lovemaking. Creepy. Well, unless she’s in need. Nah. Still creepy.
How cool would it be to have a sex buddy in the neighborhood? It happens. I don’t even want to know anything about her personal life. There should be no discussion about boyfriends, parenting skills, or favorite movies. All we need to know about each other is how to get to orgasm. Nice! OK, not really. Creepy.
This shit must happen somewhere other than on television–the chance meeting, the connection, the lust, the impossibility of it all, the elation, the reality, the separation, the sadness, the desire, the reunion, etc. It’s so much better than the blind date, awkward conversation, and other turtle-paced moves toward something we all want from the first encounter.
Oh, my fucking Yoda! It couldn’t be.
“Hi, I’m Sara.”
“Well, hello, Sara. I’m Phil.”
“I was walking by and I couldn’t help noticing …”
“I didn’t mean to be staring. I’m sorry. It’s just, you’re so lovely, and such a wonderful vision I don’t typically see outside my office window.”
“Um, thank you. Like I was saying, I couldn’t help noticing your sprinkler head popped off and it’s spraying an arc of water into the street. You might want to shut that off.”
“Ah, yes. I’ll get right on that. Thank you for letting me know. Sorry about the … you know.”
“See ya around, neighbor.”
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