Remember
Handsome Brad? In short, we met on a plane in Rome, only to find that we lived across the street from each other in Dallas. The guy was so friendly and easy going, I didn't notice at first that he was capital-H Handsome. If someone was going to build me a man, I'd strongly suggest they use him as a mold. Alas, my final destination was an intoxicating and doomed romance with an older fella, so that was that.
But! A couple of weeks ago, there he was in the produce aisle of my grocery store, manhandling some avocados. I stopped my cart and did a mental grooming check. I'd just come from work, which meant I'd bathed that day, done my hair and was wearing clothes that had not been smooshed in a backpack for the last 7 weeks. By comparison, I was looking downright glamorous. I decided to say hi.
"Hey!" Brad dropped his avocado and smiled, and I was struck with the sudden thought that there was, unbelievably, such a thing as
too good-looking. I mean, lord help me. He tilted his head to one side, scrutinizing. "You look really different."
"I showered," I said, and then babbled something gooberish about hostel showers being more like endurance tests.
Gah! Stay cool, Hunter. Stay cool.
"No... you cut your hair!"
"Marry me?"
Okay, I didn't say that. But man, that's one thing that gets me - when guys notice stuff like that. What can I say, I'm easy to please. Gimme a handsome, perceptive man, some fresh produce, and those pink frosted sugar cookies from the bakery and I'm satisfied.
Unfortunately, I was in a rush to be somewhere, and so after a few minutes of chitchat, I was forced to leave his handsomeness to his avocados, without having proposed marriage. But it wouldn't have worked out anyway. He's way too good looking and essentially, just not my type. Which, obviously, includes only inappropriate men with no long-term potential.