Was supposed to return to my own home from my parents’ yesterday, but lingered to attend a concert with them, and my sister. It was lovely: on a patio, by a river, and one of the musicians was a friend I’ve not seen in – brace yourself – 22 years. (Yes, that’s two twos there. He was counting it out, and I said, “no, don’t, really,” and he finished the sentence with “it’s been twenty-two YEARS!!” and I believe I actually wheezed aloud. Lord.)
Well. I didn’t know he’d be there, and I’d been practicing dance right up until the moment Mom said, “Really? Are you not ready YET?” and no, of course I wasn’t, I hadn’t showered or anything; so I put up my (greasy) hair and threw on a pair of jeans and a dark jacket over my dark T-shirt and put on some lipstick, because, OK, that’s something — lol — I really didn’t want to lose a moment of dancing time… so there I was, disreputable and not looking *at all* my best, when… around the corner, and I SWEAR it was in slow motion, sashays this tan, suave, formerly-dorky kid I used to know (DID I MENTION IT WAS 22 FRIKKING YEARS AGO?) in college. Daaaaaaaaaaaaang. He was looking foine.
(If you do not know this word, it is “foine”: like “fine”, but finer. When “fine” smells good, and is shaking its butt a little when it walks, and smiling that gorgeous confident smile, and has a twinkle in its eye, and radiating goodness from the inside, but just a little bit of the naughty attitude? That, my friends, is how I define “foine”. And you say it like it’s typed. Oh. And you have to make this face:
–and yes, I keep that photo laying around. I’m not wearing that much makeup tonight. I tried taking the photo tonight and it looked variously like I was drunk, having a pleasurable but one-sided seizure, or having sexual congress with a mallard. So I whipped out the stock photo. VANITY, THY NAME IS GIGGLEPANTS.)
I digress. Hotty McTrafficStopper had just swung around the corner, earrings glinting in the sunlight, the cherubim and seraphim were whistling in approbation and St. Michael had dropped his coffee on Satan’s foot, which Satan had completely failed to notice because he was busily arranging his features into the “DAYUM that boy is FOINE” face, and I was really wishing I’d taken a shower. Oh, well!! I’d have to make do with my charm and just a soupçon of pheremones and DAMMIT, was that a wedding ring, oh bugger me standing, yes. Yes, it was.
I was still SO HAPPY to see him! We chatted, and yes: he is happily married after 20 years (oof, there’s another one of those 2s) and has daughters, they’re gorgeous, and he’s still a great guy. And YES, I made a total idiot of myself babbling, because he IS an old friend and I was happy to see him. However… I am pleased to say my brain made the transition over to, “maybe he’s got a friend since he’s not available” without too much grey matter carnage.