Christmas in NYC. I love Christmas. I like sparkly things, so this is no surprise. Christmas is very sparkly. I got off work today and I decided to brave the 31 degree weather to do a little Christmas shopping for my family. A few weeks ago I had wandered around Union Square where they have a lovely fair set up of booths of all kinds of great gift ideas; all unique, often handmade items. My favorite is a little booth of glass products, all hand blown from Western Massachusetts. Isn't it funny that I can't spell the name of the state I lived in for three years? But let's not lie, I had to look it up on the map before I went to school because I wasn't honestly sure exactly where it was.
Anyway, I went back today to purchase a couple gifts for my family and was pleasantly surprised that the young man running the booth was super attractive. Dark hair, light eyes, wearing a Red Sox hat and a great smile. He's on the phone as he walks back into the booth to help me and the other two inquiring customers, but as he's getting bombarded with questions he says to the person on the other end of the phone call "can I call you later?....okay, I love you, too, bye." My heart dropped. Girlfriend. Sigh. He says to me and the other patrons "sorry...you know how parents are, can't get them off the phone." My heart picked its sorry ass back up. Everything about his appearance is ringing my "this guy's totally my type" bell. We get to chatting, I ask him which of the glass Christmas ornaments he'd like if he was my mother so that I can keep talking to him. Through the conversation I find out that he lives in the city, so I ask him what he does when he's not helping a friend sell glass.
An actor. Of course. He said some other things but I was having a hard time listening because I was finding him so charming.
I want to stand and talk to him more, he's totally adorable and easy to talk to, but I fumble to make my purchases, thank him and tell him it was lovely talking to him, and walk away. He tells me that he hopes he sees me on Broadway soon.
It's really freakin' cold outside. I can't feel my feet.
I continue to meander through the booths, intending to discover some more gifts, but I can't stop thinking about this guy. I find myself wishing I had more make up on and that my hair looked better. My imagination starts to get the better of me. It seems like a great story to tell the kids- "Yeah, we met in Union Square right before Christmas... he was selling hand blown glass from Western Massachusetts." -Goddammmmitttt misspelled again. Right click and fix. - Okay, maybe it doesn't flow that well, but the hopeless romantic in my was a little swept away at the thought of having a more interesting story on how I met someone than "at a bar" or "eHarmony". Not that there's anything wrong with dating websites. I mean, I don't use them. Yet.
I've always considered myself a go getter. A girl who speaks her mind and doesn't necessarily fit the stereotypes. I dug around in my purse, tore of a corner of a Live Bait pay stub and wrote, with my lucky pen I stole from McCann's (aforementioned Irish pub), my first name (hell, he might be a psycho) and cell number on it...complete with smiley face. Then I stuck it in my pocket. Now I had the muster the balls to go give it to him. I peek around the corner and stand a few booths down where he can't see me. I watch, waiting for the booth to clear because I really don't want anyone to overhear me, I'm embarrassed enough as it is. How do dudes do this all the time? Finally, after lingering just out of sight like a crazy stalker for about five nerve wracking minutes I get the urge to just go for it. I walk up to him.
"Hi...I know this is really weird and I never, ever do this but, uhhhh, this is my phone number and you should call me if you wanna grab a drink sometime. I just, I mean... I, you're nice. Okay. I'm sorry, what was your name?"
Overlapping with everything I was saying Oh, yeah. No. Not at all. Oh. Yeah. Ummm, Yeah! Brad."
"Melissa. Nice to meet you. I'm going to walk away now."
And I did. I walked away. And I couldn't believe the surge of adrenaline and life and pride that went through me. I basked in my own awesomeness the whole train ride home. I don't care if he never calls. He probably won't. He probably has girlfriend. Or a boyfriend. Or thought I was crazy. What matters it this:
I have enormous balls.
I'm more of a man than half the men I know. And, I won't sit around, wondering about the nice guy I hit it off with, and wishing that, if he wanted to, he'd have a way of contacting me. I vow to do more of this in my life.
No more what ifs.
Your move, Brad. Choose wisely.
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You fucking rock. I want to be YOU when I grow up.
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