At 2.00 pm, 30 minutes before my lunch date, I am standing in a line (or as New Yorkers say, standing on line) at Barnes and Noble, waiting to return my book. In addition to shoes, handbags, totes, and rings – I am a bit of a book collector.
There are about five people in front of me, so this should take about 10 minutes, leaving me with 20 minutes to go 20 blocks, which is enough time for me to get to Turkuaz and change my shoes by 2.30 pm. Now, Meera would insist I show up just a tad late. Which maybe I would – if I wanted to make an impression. Though when I showed up late to my first Town and Country date – he didn’t like it – so who knows what men like – clearly boys were not a science I was schooled in.
Just when I get to the counter my phone beeps. A text from Flyboy. I am parking the car.
Okay – then. I am not sure what the appropriate response is. “Good boy” “Well done” “Sounds good” -- so I decide not to reply and meet him at the scheduled time. And now I am glad I’m showing up on time. I won't be able to deal with him texting if I don't arrive on time.
I get out of the bookstore and begin speed-walking to the restaurant. At 2.15 pm my phone beeps again. Hhhmm. I check. Another text from Flyboy: I am here, where are you?
He is 15 minutes early. Ugh. I stop and text back: En route. 15 mins out. Will be there by 2.30 pm – the scheduled time. He texts back: What direction are you coming from? UGH! If I tell him the truth, from the south, is he going to ask me 1,000 questions why? So for self-preservation, I lie (I know I am bad) and text back: On bus. See you at 2.30 pm.
Two blocks away I change out of my flip flops and into my heels. When I get to Turkuaz, I find Flyboy pacing outside. Okay, he’s tall, slim, but looks nothing like his photos. In his photos he is cute. This is not to say he is not attractive, but he looks better in his photos. Photoshop maybe? I can say I have never doctored my looks in a photo – cut people out, yes. But enhanced? No.
“Hey Flyboy,” I say. “Hi, I was wondering where you were,” he says. I look at my watch and then look at him. “I have one minute to spare,” I say. “Oh. But I have been waiting for 30 minutes,” he says. It takes everything I have NOT to sigh.“Okay, well shall we go in?” I ask.
Ack! Why is it my fault that he came so early? I just want to get this date over with.Not a good sign ...