I get off the A train and race around the southern half of Columbus Circle and dart towards Rockefeller Center. There are no stores in my neighborhood so if I want to buy anything other than inexpensive Chinese, pizza by the slice or office supplies from Staples; I need to kick it downtown.
In J. Crew I purchase a slim gold belt to go with the magenta silk dress (way-on-sale) I bought for Meera’s baby shower. At Ann Taylor I do a quick pass through and find a wide belt in yellow. I am not a yellow girl – in fact yellow and orange are two colors I cannot at all wear. They make me look sallow. Oh and tan, I cannot wear tan – I am tan and tan sucks all the color from my face. But as an accessory this wide yellow belt will be super fab!
At Sephora I buy make-up remover. In Bloomingdales I inhale – ah the mothership. I dart into Hallmark for some cards and stop for a slice of pizza. I can barely afford the $14 drink I will order at the Met, so I better get some cheap eats to balance the alcohol.
I board an Uptown bus and check my phone. Another text from Flyboy. Oh my. At 79th street I get off the bus and a light rain begins to drizzle. I pop open my umbrella and call Flyboy back – returning his four messages (one call and three texts) in one fell swoop. I go straight to voicemail and presume "the funeral" has started. “Hey Flyboy, got your messages. Don’t worry about today, sorry to hear about your loss. I am leaving for Minnesota next week so I am going to have a crazy week. Bye!”
Due to rain our rooftop drinks have become indoor time with friends in the Petrie Café and Wine Bar. So I sit down and begin to blather on about girl things. Bad dates. Shopping. Dieting. Vino. Around 4 pm I get a new text (message five) from Flyboy saying the funeral is over and did I want to meet. I cannot. Since arriving at the Met I have made plans to go to Orsay for escargots and pomme frites. So much for my budget.
Around 5 pm I get a call from Flyboy. I let it go to voicemail. Fifteen minutes later I get a text and then two minutes later I get another text. By this time, my friend Elizabeth gives me a really odd look and says, “Who is so determined to call you?” “Uhm, yea – so I had a date today and this morning he cancelled to attend a funeral and I guess the funeral is done….” “A funeral? That is the worst excuse I have heard to get out of a date,” Elizabeth says and wrinkles her nose. “I know – I am not picking up or calling him back. And the only reason I don’t turn off my phone is because I never know if my parents will call.”
When Flyboy calls just before 6 pm and leaves his eighth message I turn off the phone. I love my parents, I really do – but if they need something pressing they are going to have to wait for my sanity to return. Because a desi man who I never met has just made me insane with his incessant, borderline stalker need to contact me.