I am a passionate woman.
When I enjoy things I enjoy them in that way that stirs a warmth swirling from the inside out.
It radiates through my skin and drips honey from my lips.
I don't partially dip my toe in the pool of possibility.
I dive head first, naked, giggling as the cool water enraptures me.
Which is why when I saw Mr. Wonderful at Bartini I nearly dripped like Niagra Falls on my chair.
The man oozes sex.
I coveted him for an obscene number of days.
He was the Starbucks regular I'd manage to stutter awkwardly in front of instead of pur gracefully no matter how many mornings I attempted to bat my lashes and pout my lips.
He was a venti americano with a sometimes yogurt parfait and I ached for him to lay on top of me.
There are just some men you're fortunate enough to stumble upon in your lifetime who don't have to exert any effort, there's just something in their pheromones that makes you want to do whatever they ask of you.
Thank god they are few and far between.
Mr. Wonderful was tall, dark and devastatingly handsome with piercing hazel eyes and a smile that would warm the saddest soul.
He was successful and charming and had a family of brothers who were all stupidly handsome.
I was so made to be his arm candy.
Alas, no dates were ever shared.
No kisses poured from our lips.
One day he simply stopped frequenting my store.
And I transferred and then moved on to another job.
The love affair that should have been with Mr. Wonderful was no more.
And then one day, some year plus later, I walked into one of my favorite bars I go to nearly every week.
I sat down waiting for my date and I glanced up at the table next to me.
And. There. Was. Mr. Wonderful.
It is really quite a shame the look on my face wasn't captured with a camera.
Because it was like seeing an iconic celebrity.
I wanted to run over, throwing my arms around his neck and give him a hug.
But I also wanted to respect his space and timidly tried to make eye contact.
HE SAW ME.
My heart began to palpitate.
I'll spare you the boring details and skip straight to the tragic ending of my fairytale by announcing my discovery that Mr. Wonderful has recently found himself married.
He was his charming, friendly self as we spoke but I knew our chances of romance had faded as quickly as they'd sparked their way back into my imagination.
Why had I run into him?
What was the point? What had it meant?
It felt some cruel, universal reminder that the prince I've yet to kiss is still so very far even when seated at the table beside me.
I sipped my French Kiss martini and shook my head in amazement.
Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, he walks into mine.
Here's lookin' at you, kid.
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