with the tip of his finger and slowly, as if he were deciding which nuclear bomb wire to disarm, slid the handle back up on my shoulder. He withdrew his hand, slo-mo and half raised his arm in the air, lest I thought he was a purse-snatcher. The right side of his mouth looked like it was thinking about smiling, but at the last moment decided against it.
“Thanks,” I said. I pulled the strap tighter, up and over my shoulder. Marry Christmas , I thought. I wanted to see what this guy looked like with a smile.
“You’re welcome.” He said. Long pause. “You have your hands full.”
“‘Tis the season,” I said, all proud that I had a bag full of baking goods with no hair removal product in sight. My salt vinegar potato chips were stowed securely underneath the bag of flour. No worries, they would still taste the same.
“You’re getting ready for it, I see,” he said.
“I love to bake.” Thankfully my pants did not burst into flames.
“And I love cookies.” He put his phone in his back pocket and took a sip of coffee. The music in that crowded coffee shop suddenly got louder. The Director in the Sky of this little romantic comedy wanted to make crystal clear, I was about to have “a magic moment.” You think he would have chosen a song I didn’t hate. Something not involving Burl Ives and snowmen. Snowmen make me so sad. Frosty. His head melts and his top hat bounces down the street, but “he’ll be back again, someday?” I felt my heart grow two sizes smaller. I was starting to get claustrophobic. My cute sweater with ironic snowflakes was shedding brown fibers like a molting yak, while cooking up my underarms. A trickle, like melted snow, dripped between my shoulder blades. I didn’t want to blow it. If you must know, my anxiety level was off the charts. Or as Lauri would say, I was being present in the now. I pretended I was a yoga instructor and sucked in my belly button all the way to my spine.
My turn. Flirt dammit. He was the right size, right shape. My Chief Hormone Officer went on full alert, pheromone exchange at the ready. I made my eyes twinkle, and I stood at attention. I’m pretty sure I made a duck face before coyly smiling at him. Good, he likes cookies. “Maybe I’ll have to make you some.”
He leaned in. “I’d like that.”
“What’s your favorite kind?”
“I’m sure I’d like whatever you make.”
I laughed. What Lauri would call my femme fatale laugh, as I flew too close to the sun. I exited the “now,” highly overrated if you ask me, and zoomed to Planet Happy Future. Oh, dear God our kids would be gorgeous.
And then I read the name on his coffee cup. Joe Noel. The barista had even drawn what looked like a six-point holly leaf with three berries next to it. He saw me glance down.
“Hi, I’m Joe.”
“Ginger.” I tried not to shut down. But the name Joe Noel was a deal breaker. I couldn’t bear the ridicule from my friends if we got together. It was exhausting even imagining fending off the insane Santa/Elf/Ho Ho Ho jokes that would ensue. Who wouldn’t know? Sadly. Who wouldn’t know? Up on the housetop, click, click, click. My heart plummeted back to the boring old stupid problem-filled now. Message received. He wasn’t the one for me, and there must be a lesson there somewhere.
“May I help you?” Saved by the barista waiting to take my order.
“Thanks for saving my purse,” I told Jolly ol’ St. Nick. I shifted my grocery bag. “Nice to meet you.” Joe Noel, of the super serious Botox-free furrowed brow and what appeared to be the thighs of Thor, turned out to be a walking Christmas carol. Joe Noel. If we got married I would be Ginger Krinkles Noel. No way. What, we could name our kids The First, or Joyeux? The universe had gone all out this time. If I ended up with a guy named Joe Noel our kids would all be born with pointy ears, and we’d end up moving to The North Pole. Not on my watch.
I turned my body away from him to face the
“Thanks,” I said. I pulled the strap tighter, up and over my shoulder. Marry Christmas , I thought. I wanted to see what this guy looked like with a smile.
“You’re welcome.” He said. Long pause. “You have your hands full.”
“‘Tis the season,” I said, all proud that I had a bag full of baking goods with no hair removal product in sight. My salt vinegar potato chips were stowed securely underneath the bag of flour. No worries, they would still taste the same.
“You’re getting ready for it, I see,” he said.
“I love to bake.” Thankfully my pants did not burst into flames.
“And I love cookies.” He put his phone in his back pocket and took a sip of coffee. The music in that crowded coffee shop suddenly got louder. The Director in the Sky of this little romantic comedy wanted to make crystal clear, I was about to have “a magic moment.” You think he would have chosen a song I didn’t hate. Something not involving Burl Ives and snowmen. Snowmen make me so sad. Frosty. His head melts and his top hat bounces down the street, but “he’ll be back again, someday?” I felt my heart grow two sizes smaller. I was starting to get claustrophobic. My cute sweater with ironic snowflakes was shedding brown fibers like a molting yak, while cooking up my underarms. A trickle, like melted snow, dripped between my shoulder blades. I didn’t want to blow it. If you must know, my anxiety level was off the charts. Or as Lauri would say, I was being present in the now. I pretended I was a yoga instructor and sucked in my belly button all the way to my spine.
My turn. Flirt dammit. He was the right size, right shape. My Chief Hormone Officer went on full alert, pheromone exchange at the ready. I made my eyes twinkle, and I stood at attention. I’m pretty sure I made a duck face before coyly smiling at him. Good, he likes cookies. “Maybe I’ll have to make you some.”
He leaned in. “I’d like that.”
“What’s your favorite kind?”
“I’m sure I’d like whatever you make.”
I laughed. What Lauri would call my femme fatale laugh, as I flew too close to the sun. I exited the “now,” highly overrated if you ask me, and zoomed to Planet Happy Future. Oh, dear God our kids would be gorgeous.
And then I read the name on his coffee cup. Joe Noel. The barista had even drawn what looked like a six-point holly leaf with three berries next to it. He saw me glance down.
“Hi, I’m Joe.”
“Ginger.” I tried not to shut down. But the name Joe Noel was a deal breaker. I couldn’t bear the ridicule from my friends if we got together. It was exhausting even imagining fending off the insane Santa/Elf/Ho Ho Ho jokes that would ensue. Who wouldn’t know? Sadly. Who wouldn’t know? Up on the housetop, click, click, click. My heart plummeted back to the boring old stupid problem-filled now. Message received. He wasn’t the one for me, and there must be a lesson there somewhere.
“May I help you?” Saved by the barista waiting to take my order.
“Thanks for saving my purse,” I told Jolly ol’ St. Nick. I shifted my grocery bag. “Nice to meet you.” Joe Noel, of the super serious Botox-free furrowed brow and what appeared to be the thighs of Thor, turned out to be a walking Christmas carol. Joe Noel. If we got married I would be Ginger Krinkles Noel. No way. What, we could name our kids The First, or Joyeux? The universe had gone all out this time. If I ended up with a guy named Joe Noel our kids would all be born with pointy ears, and we’d end up moving to The North Pole. Not on my watch.
I turned my body away from him to face the
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