It is always interesting being hit on, even more so when you are a matchmaker. I have plenty of stories to tell, but I will start with this one.
So, I was in a local grocery store one Friday night to pick up some veggies and hummus for a girl's night in, and this is what ensued.
Curtain rises to reveal a 30-something blonde woman in athletic pants, flip flops and a Purdue tee, her hair swept off of her face into a high ponytail, and no trace of makeup except for a little lip gloss and mascara. She was for sure on the prowl for a man in that stunning ensemble, right? Move over couture, "college campus wear circa 1999" is in the house.
The woman's mind raced as she flew down the aisles of her favorite specialty mart like a bat out of hell in search of the newest "it" foods in which to entice the taste buds of her friends. Her cart slowly filled with what appeared to be a buffet fit for the United Nations: samosas, spanakopita, paella, gazpacho, and sushi, oh my! Her shoulders relaxed a little as she felt her shopping journey slowly come to an end. She turned the corner to enter the produce department in search of the tomatoes and fresh basil for her famous Caprese salad. That is when IT happened. IT will now go down as a defining moment in dating history, a moment in which even her many years of working in the dating industry did not prepare her for.
It is when HE happened. The woman quickly found the perfect bunch of basil and moved over to the tomatoes. This was her first mistake. She should have started in the produce section before entering the rest of the store. Maybe she could have sidestepped this bizarre collision of fate.
She was carefully selecting the perfect tomatoes when HE walked up. She had a tomato held up to her nose, inhaling its aroma when HE first spoke to her. It was not the normal small talk song and dance that introduces most male/female conversational interludes. No, this was something much different, something that caused time to stand still as she stood there half in disbelief, half in awe as she paused to take in his words.
She scanned him up and down, this beautiful specimen of a man, with his perfectly donned jeans and a tight pale blue tee that hugged what must have been the muse for Michelangelo's David. He had tan skin, dark wavy hair, and a perfectly chiseled face that housed two of the most beautiful blue eyes that the woman had ever seen. She swore that she could see his soul in those eyes. Something inside of her stirred, something that had lain dormant for years. She felt this man in her heart, truth be told, she felt him in her toes.
She knew she was in trouble, but then he repeated those words again. Those words induced in the woman, what can only be termed as the equivalent to "intellectual blue balls". How could this beautiful, soulful man have said those words? Did she build him up too much in her mind? Was she blinded by his beauty and the physical reaction within her that very few men in her lifetime have evoked? Was her tool radar on the fritz? She must have pondered this way too long because he repeated himself again:
"Can you feel my tomatoes?"
(He was not holding any by the way.)
The woman turned to survey the aisles, hoping to have a shared audience to this one-man tragedy. No such luck. She could feel her face flush as she struggled for her next words. Unsure of what to say or do, she turned to humor, "Don't you think you should at least buy me a drink first". His face tightened into a smirk as he glanced at her cart and confidently muttered his next words, "Sure, let me carry your melons out to the car and we will go out for that drink".
The woman burst out in laughter. He immediately turned red when he realized what he had said. She can only assume that he meant to carry out "her groceries", but Mr. Freudian Slip, along with the visual aid of the two cantaloupes in her cart, had rewritten that script. The man turned, dropped his basket of groceries on the floor and ran out of the store. He sprinted really. The woman stood in shock as she watched him get into his car and speed out of the parking lot.
She turned, finished picking out the perfect tomatoes, and proceeded to the checkout, still laughing on the inside.
Moral of the story: Don't stop to smell the produce, or you may leave with more than the occasional tomato. It did provide me with some great convo with the girls that evening though.
More matchmaker tales to come in the future, but for now, date well and flirt wisely.
XOXO,
Lisa Maria
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