You: Math doctoral student with a minor in art, a taste for spicy Indian food, fantastic and wandering aimlessness in life, dusty blonde hair, and deep, pretty brown eyes; window seat on American flight #1490 from OHare to RDU.
QR Code Link to This Post
Me: Seeker of some degree no one's ever heard of with a minor in English, a taste for spicy indian food, sweat-soaked insulating long sleeved shirt from flying in out of the cold, smelly green plaid shirt, 4 days of stubble, greasy hair, shitbreath from the burrito I had at OHare (why not? I was there for 7 goddamn hours), and the type of body odor that can only come from not showering after spending all day in a car and the hot sun and drinking until about an hour before hitting the road for the airport (where I spent all day before seeing you). I probably had stinky feet, too, and I was wearing flip-flops; middle seat on American flight #1490 from OHare to RDU after spending all day chasing cancelled flights.
I said "I've almost never talk to anyone on the plane." You said "I guess usually give off the message that I don't want to talk on the plane."
Why haven't you called?
Are you telling me you weren't drawn to my pheremone soaked clothing? Was it the big dirt stain on my shirt, or the way I kept getting tomato juice on my pseudo beard/moustache?
Was it the fact that I was hungover and living off an hour of sleep and rattled off non sequitors like nobody's business?
I've heard I have nice eyes. You don't like red?
Is it because I awkwardly handed you my phone number as if it might be nice if you called, but only slightly more nice than hearing from Ed McMahon in the mail? Should I have blown some more shitbreath in your face while asking for your number?
Are you saying that I didn't impress you with the book which I punchdrunkenly confessed that I only carried so I would look smart? The book was even called "The Idiot." That's what we English minors call "Irony."
Was it the story of my horrible digestion problems in India? Isn't Delhi Belly sexy?
The beer smell on my luggage?
My attempts to express my admiration of you by saying "Yeah, that's really cool. I really think that's cool. That's just... cool," and then staring off into space because my brain just ceased all electrical activity due to the lack of sleep and sheer aggravation of spending a good part of the day waiting on the tarmac for the rain to clear up?
Well... I'm sitting here, hoping you might call. I'd wish I could ask for a chance to make an improvement on the first impression by making for you a nice greek salad and some whole wheat sourdough bread, but when I got home I realized I'd forgotton to take out the trash, and I now have several generations of fruit flies on every surface in my house. How's your place?
So... if my phone number didn't make it's way permanently into your trash can, I'd still love to get the chance to make a new friend in you. I promise I'll shower next time.