Why don’t I run into people I like?
P and I are walking down College Street after taking a shopping trip for some computer parts when we have to figure out where we’re going next. We’re being all smiley because it’s been a good day for the both of us, so far. We enjoy each other’s company and it’s noticeable to others who are around us.
Before we turn onto University Avenue, a guy barely misses us and walks in front. It takes me a couple of seconds to realize who it is. From the patter of the walk, I recognize it’s Crazy. He’s coming back from Holt Renfrew, carrying their signature hot pink bag. I know he went shopping for himself since he doesn't buy things for others.
“That’s Crazy,” I tell P.
“That’s Crazy? How do you know?”
“That ugly fish bag he’s carrying. And, I also know the walk.” Yes, the walk which is a little patter of someone who looks like they have something rammed so far up their ass, it’s almost a wonder they’re even able to bend over.
P looks over at me and practically rolls his eyes, as if to say, God, you were an idiot to date that. He’s not the only one who has had the same reaction. Apparently, I could’ve done better, yet no one told me this before. It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. Emotional car crashes deserve another kind of insurance.
It’s at times like these when I wonder why I don’t run into people I like. I hardly see any of my friends on the street. The only time I was completely shocked was when I heard my sister call my name on Queen Street as she was heading to work after teaching at the University (yes, she’s smart).
As P and I carry on down University, the ugly fish bag fades from view and we carry on like the happening was happenstance. The next time I hope to run into a friend, or at least an acquaintance who I like.
Before we turn onto University Avenue, a guy barely misses us and walks in front. It takes me a couple of seconds to realize who it is. From the patter of the walk, I recognize it’s Crazy. He’s coming back from Holt Renfrew, carrying their signature hot pink bag. I know he went shopping for himself since he doesn't buy things for others.
“That’s Crazy,” I tell P.
“That’s Crazy? How do you know?”
“That ugly fish bag he’s carrying. And, I also know the walk.” Yes, the walk which is a little patter of someone who looks like they have something rammed so far up their ass, it’s almost a wonder they’re even able to bend over.
P looks over at me and practically rolls his eyes, as if to say, God, you were an idiot to date that. He’s not the only one who has had the same reaction. Apparently, I could’ve done better, yet no one told me this before. It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. Emotional car crashes deserve another kind of insurance.
It’s at times like these when I wonder why I don’t run into people I like. I hardly see any of my friends on the street. The only time I was completely shocked was when I heard my sister call my name on Queen Street as she was heading to work after teaching at the University (yes, she’s smart).
As P and I carry on down University, the ugly fish bag fades from view and we carry on like the happening was happenstance. The next time I hope to run into a friend, or at least an acquaintance who I like.
Authored by S at 12:00 am
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