So the gorgeous girl that lives on the ground floor of my apartment building was checking her mail this morning and she looked so lovely that I just had to stop and talk to her. She was so carefully coifed and made up, each hair in place and each eyelash standing at attention, distinct and separate and dark that I just couldn’t pass her by. The way her tight, up-to-the-split-second-of-style, just-long-enough-to-hide-my-ankles-but-not-so-long-as-to-obscure-my-incredible-feet black pants hugged her figure and the way her blouse, a corporate-correct but still earth-shatteringly sexy garment hung over her torso made it impossible for me not to say something.
Now I have never been very good at this sort of thing. I’ve always been kind of the shy type, preferring to wait for just the right moment and just the right atmosphere before I tip my hand. That’s why my sudden, mindless determination surprised me. It’s good to know that you can still surprise yourself, even after such a long, monogamous relationship with just one personality. So I stopped on my way by her. I stopped and I mustered my voice. “Hi.” I said to her. “I’m Alex. You look lovely this morning. I know this great Japanese steakhouse in the city that I would love to take you to this evening, if you’re free.” She was surprised that I was talking to her, that much was clear in the seconds that she was taking to process my question and to formulate her answer. Her voice sounded like a choir of angels to me at that moment. I was reasonably sure that no woman this heavenly had ever before spoken to me. “I’m busy tonight,” she began. That was okay, I thought. There’s always tomorrow, Sunday, or even, perhaps, a weekday. And wow, she was talking to me. “And besides,” continued the bright shooting star of my existence, “do you know what they do to those poor cows before they end up a simmering, fleshy mass on your plate? It’s really inhumane. I could never eat something as innocent and undeserving as a cow.” With that, she quickly pulled on her mid-length, form-fitting, slightly-flared-to-allow-for-the-wiggle-of-her-perfect-hips leather overcoat and left me standing in the lobby.