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July 24, 2008

sarah's six guys

This story has been in my queue for a long time, and I'm giddy that I finally get to tell it. Yes, even when I'm crazy in love with a girl, I still jot down the awful stuff so that I might post it here after she's gone. Ever the optimist.

For our first romantic getaway, Poor Sarah and I went to San Francisco. I went all out. I planned the trip meticulously. When we got off the plane, a limo would be waiting for us. From the limo we would enjoy a driving tour of the city, then it would drop us off at a top French restaurant, where her favorite flowers would be waiting on our table. When we got to our hotel, it would be nestled next to her favorite store in the world. I couldn't wait for the plan to unfold.

During the two hour flight toward romance, we exchanged many stories. Mine covered the gamut, but hers, at first seemingly random, had a common theme.

• There was the time a drunken guy was hitting on her so much that a stewardess felt sorry for her and moved her to another seat.
• Oh, that reminds her: she's noticed a lot more guys checking her out lately. Isn't that odd?
• One time she pretended to be a Steven Seagal groupie and he propositioned her.
• There was a discussion among the Port Gamble folks the other night in which it was determined that Sarah's body was ideal.

Onward the plane flew. By the time she got around to her ex with the enormous "porn star dick" that hurt her so, so much, I was mentally tabulating how much this romantic getaway was costing me. Sarah isn't normally one to go on about her own attractiveness. She at least feigns modesty. But on this flight, in perhaps the worst moment possible, she suddenly did. And man, did it ever put me in a romantic mood.

• • •

The next day, we went to the Bone Room, a specialty store where you can buy, among other things, animal and human bones. I was aware of the proprietor leering at Sarah while we were in there, but this happened a lot, so I paid it little mind. Then he asked me to leave because of the Velamint in my mouth. Rolling my eyes, I went outside. I was bored anyway. A few minutes later, Sarah emerged.

"He offered me a job!" she beamed.

"I'll bet he did," I snarled.

A huge fight ensued. I don't remember much, but I remember I was her persecutor. "You don't think I could get the job offer based on my qualifications, and that hurts me," wailed the high school graduate cum housecleaner waitress.

I wish I always had the capacity for mental math that I do in such moments.

posted by john at 05:54 PM  •  solamente