The Man at the End of the Bar
I've never been one for lust at first sight. Not really. Oh, there are guys, men, that I'll see and think, "Wow!" And then he'll straighten his cuffs in such a way that I realize that, in fact, he is gay and, therefore, handsome in a you'll-never-get-your-hands-on-this kind of way. Usually, the reason I find guys attractive is because they're funny and smart and don't look like Scotty Pippen, the ugliest man in America.
I met some friends for a drink last night at an upscale watering hole in town. I was really tired, beat down from a long week and an evening on the golf course. During which in rained. So, not only did I look a little bruised under the eyes, but my hair had seen better days. I bought a beer and sat down. Then he walked in.
He was beautiful. Simply beautiful. Brad-Pitt-knee-shakingly beautiful. Blond, curly hair pulled into a short ponytail. Tan. Golden beard--not like a Grizzly Adams beard. More like Don Johnson. He had the look I thought I got over in college. Apparently not.
He looked like he still had California sand between his toes. Like his skin would taste slightly of sea salt. He'd smell of limes and coconut and fresh breeze. He looked like Richard Branson, the guy who owns Virgin Atlantic, aspires to look. He looked like he had a tan line around his ankle, where he secured the line to his surfboard.
I don't know where he came from. I want to think he was drinking gin and tonics. He polished his silver with his napkin, making me think he worked in the business. He ordered pork tenderloin, I think, with fresh asparagus, and drank a glass of nice white wine with dinner. He had two earrings and a few string bracelets. He sat in such a way that the lamp in the parking lot behind him made his hair light up from behind, like a halo. Or a corona.
A woman came to join him. They knew each other but I don't think they were together. I thought about going to talk to him. And then I thought better of it. So I left.
I thought I'd learned to take a chance once in a while, but I guess I haven't quite gotten there yet.
I met some friends for a drink last night at an upscale watering hole in town. I was really tired, beat down from a long week and an evening on the golf course. During which in rained. So, not only did I look a little bruised under the eyes, but my hair had seen better days. I bought a beer and sat down. Then he walked in.
He was beautiful. Simply beautiful. Brad-Pitt-knee-shakingly beautiful. Blond, curly hair pulled into a short ponytail. Tan. Golden beard--not like a Grizzly Adams beard. More like Don Johnson. He had the look I thought I got over in college. Apparently not.
He looked like he still had California sand between his toes. Like his skin would taste slightly of sea salt. He'd smell of limes and coconut and fresh breeze. He looked like Richard Branson, the guy who owns Virgin Atlantic, aspires to look. He looked like he had a tan line around his ankle, where he secured the line to his surfboard.
I don't know where he came from. I want to think he was drinking gin and tonics. He polished his silver with his napkin, making me think he worked in the business. He ordered pork tenderloin, I think, with fresh asparagus, and drank a glass of nice white wine with dinner. He had two earrings and a few string bracelets. He sat in such a way that the lamp in the parking lot behind him made his hair light up from behind, like a halo. Or a corona.
A woman came to join him. They knew each other but I don't think they were together. I thought about going to talk to him. And then I thought better of it. So I left.
I thought I'd learned to take a chance once in a while, but I guess I haven't quite gotten there yet.
posted by Miss Head at
4:59 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home