I must be ovulating! In the last 48 hours, two guys have tried talking to me while sitting on the same couch at the same coffee shop. The problem is I can sometimes have a very — oh, I don't know — East Coast mentality to talkative strangers. It's sweet enough in theory, but I'm usually taken back in practice. Without considering who they are, why they are talking to me, or even what they look like, it can be hard not to discourage further dialogue.
This weekend, it went like this: I am stirring my iced latte that's become top heavy with water. I hear a voice, words, directed toward me. If I don't look up, it never happened. But I feel eyes fixed on me, so I do. He's staring right at me.
"Sorry?" I ask.
"What. Are. You. Reading?"
I look at the unmistakable Miller Text Roman font of his New Yorker, and immediately put my hand over a picture and flip to the cover.
"New York magazine." I show him the cover, so it's true.
"But, what article?"
There's no getting out of it. I flip back.
"It's about . . . It's about Oprah."
I flip the page and keep reading. He leaves, and I realize he was trying to talk to me. I notice he's tall and dressed well and reads at a least a college-sophomore level, and I realize it's too late. I feel like Liz Lemon. This would totally happen to Liz Lemon! Only she'd have Jack tell her what to do.
Source: Flickr User Ed Yourdon