The Law of Averages
You go to a bar. Or a party. A barbeque. A Final Four television-watching gathering. With chips and dips and beer and lawn chairs and hot chocolate.
You walk in with a friend. Or a group of friends. Or you're meeting a friend there. But, really, you don't know anyone else in the joint. They're all new. And different. Younger. Or older. Or your age. They went to a different college. They went to your college at a different time. They work in your office building but on a different floor. They live in your apartment complex but in a different building. They live in your town but on the other side.
So you walk in. And you, being you, look at the people. There are the married people. There are the married parents of the married people. There are the babies. There are the people with boyfriends and girlfriends and those with no obvious attachments. There are those who are secure and those who are insecure. The wallflowers. The center of the party. The hecklers. The joiners-in. The fun ones. The non-fun ones.
Frequently, there's that guy. He catches your eye immediately. He's cute. Great smile, great laugh, great body, great hair. Sometimes he has no personality. Sometimes he has a great personality. Sometimes he's the personality. You know, the guy who is the center of attention. Intent on making those around him happy, sometimes at his own expense. He starts the football game in the back yard. He brings the dice for the drinking games. He buys the pitcher of beer. When the sun sets, he streaks the party, wearing nothing but cowboy boots. The party or barbeque or whatever it is would never be the same if he wasn't there. The sense of life and fun and whatever karma makes a really great day would be diminished.
You walk in and you notice him right away. Because you, being you, find him instantly attractive. Because he's THAT guy. The guy you always end up liking (damn your father for being the life of the party). Of course, you, also being you, end up being friends with him. Just friends. Because that's the girl you are.
Sometimes he's single. Often he's dating someone. Or married. His wife smiles at him indulgently when he plays football with an empty beer case container on his head. You get to be friends, exchanging numbers, meeting up for Monday night football and the Super Bowl and the Stanley Cup finals and the Indy 500. His girlfriend tolerates you because she knows you're no threat and you and she have absolutely nothing in common other than you're mutual adoration for this guy.
If he's single, he invariably hooks up with your roommate. Or your best friend. Or your sister. You might be his confidant but he doesn't really see you "that way." He breaks up with his girlfriend and you go out to drink and he takes the waitress home with him. Sometimes this even happens when he's engaged. Or married. And you're torn between being thankful that you aren't in her position and wishing that you were.
Because when he smiles at you? You're the only person in the room. It is like a lighthouse beam concentrated on you. And when you sit together in a corner of that party? The one that he's the life of? And you've got him all to yourself? It is like you've got the best secret in the world.
But sometimes...
Sometimes you walk into that barbeque, that football party, that bar. And you see that guy, because you always do. And you can see this potential history lying out before you. Because it has happened that way so many times before.
But this time? He sees you. Really notices you. The way you've noticed him. And, after walking past your table a couple of times and catching your eye? Or going out for a long pass in the back yard and running past you? He comes up to where you're talking to his best friend. And he sticks out his hand and introduces himself, elbowing his buddy as if to say, "quit hogging her and introduce me, you idiot." And he smiles that smile. Right at you. The first time.
You walk in with a friend. Or a group of friends. Or you're meeting a friend there. But, really, you don't know anyone else in the joint. They're all new. And different. Younger. Or older. Or your age. They went to a different college. They went to your college at a different time. They work in your office building but on a different floor. They live in your apartment complex but in a different building. They live in your town but on the other side.
So you walk in. And you, being you, look at the people. There are the married people. There are the married parents of the married people. There are the babies. There are the people with boyfriends and girlfriends and those with no obvious attachments. There are those who are secure and those who are insecure. The wallflowers. The center of the party. The hecklers. The joiners-in. The fun ones. The non-fun ones.
Frequently, there's that guy. He catches your eye immediately. He's cute. Great smile, great laugh, great body, great hair. Sometimes he has no personality. Sometimes he has a great personality. Sometimes he's the personality. You know, the guy who is the center of attention. Intent on making those around him happy, sometimes at his own expense. He starts the football game in the back yard. He brings the dice for the drinking games. He buys the pitcher of beer. When the sun sets, he streaks the party, wearing nothing but cowboy boots. The party or barbeque or whatever it is would never be the same if he wasn't there. The sense of life and fun and whatever karma makes a really great day would be diminished.
You walk in and you notice him right away. Because you, being you, find him instantly attractive. Because he's THAT guy. The guy you always end up liking (damn your father for being the life of the party). Of course, you, also being you, end up being friends with him. Just friends. Because that's the girl you are.
Sometimes he's single. Often he's dating someone. Or married. His wife smiles at him indulgently when he plays football with an empty beer case container on his head. You get to be friends, exchanging numbers, meeting up for Monday night football and the Super Bowl and the Stanley Cup finals and the Indy 500. His girlfriend tolerates you because she knows you're no threat and you and she have absolutely nothing in common other than you're mutual adoration for this guy.
If he's single, he invariably hooks up with your roommate. Or your best friend. Or your sister. You might be his confidant but he doesn't really see you "that way." He breaks up with his girlfriend and you go out to drink and he takes the waitress home with him. Sometimes this even happens when he's engaged. Or married. And you're torn between being thankful that you aren't in her position and wishing that you were.
Because when he smiles at you? You're the only person in the room. It is like a lighthouse beam concentrated on you. And when you sit together in a corner of that party? The one that he's the life of? And you've got him all to yourself? It is like you've got the best secret in the world.
But sometimes...
Sometimes you walk into that barbeque, that football party, that bar. And you see that guy, because you always do. And you can see this potential history lying out before you. Because it has happened that way so many times before.
But this time? He sees you. Really notices you. The way you've noticed him. And, after walking past your table a couple of times and catching your eye? Or going out for a long pass in the back yard and running past you? He comes up to where you're talking to his best friend. And he sticks out his hand and introduces himself, elbowing his buddy as if to say, "quit hogging her and introduce me, you idiot." And he smiles that smile. Right at you. The first time.
And then he calls you the very next day.
posted by Miss Head at
5:17 AM
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