Tuesday, August 2, 2016
Flat-Faced Dog Lover, Part II.
Fred and I were going to see each other for the second night in a row – a good sign. (Right?) As I drove to the taqueria, I said out loud and to myself: “I like him, and I’m pretty sure he likes me. I'll likely get a kiss. It’ll be good. Or it won’t be good. Either way, I’ll know if I want to see him again.”
We decided to share a taco salad, and we sat side-by-side – a doubly good sign. (Right? Right?) Fred and I chatted about our respective work days, family, dream travel destinations, other significant and trivial matters. Everything seemed to be going really well.
The salad was so humongous, we couldn’t finish. I agreed to take the leftovers in a to-go container. Fred carried the food and escorted me to my car.
The deciding moment arrived. We stood by the passenger side of my car. Fred handed me the to-go box. I opened the car door, placed the leftovers on the passenger’s seat, and then shut the car door. Kissy, kissy now? “I’ve gotta go let Heidi out!” Fred blurted, dashing to his car several yards away.
I briskly followed him like – I don’t know – a puppy in heat. There they were, man and dog. Fred held onto the end of Heidi’s leash, fully focused on her. “She needs fresh air,” he reported. “Go ahead, sweetie,” he told her, as Heidi explored a nearby patch of grass.
What to do? I pet Heidi. “She’s pretty.”
With one hand firmly grasping Heidi’s leash, Fred extended his other arm to impart a flimsy cold-to-lukewarm side-hug. “I’d like to get to know you better.” (Bad sign. Good sign. Weird sign. Right?)
“Sure, be in touch,” I responded.
Driving home, I said this: "I like…no I liked him…What the hell!? I won’t compete with a b*tch for a man’s affections. Not a b*tch with two legs! Not a b*tch with four legs!"
Flat-faced Fred never called. It’s just as well. I felt inclined to bark at him, and that might’ve turned him on. The man gives new meaning to the term “dog lover.”
Perhaps there WAS a kiss that night, and I was not the recipient. So it goes.