Was this Australian man who never lived in the co-ops but came in and applied while I was working at the front counter. He was the kind of hot where the whole office (all women) stops everything they’re doing to come meet him. That confidence, that flair… He wasn’t uncomfortable, just skilled, as he worked the crowd. When the flurry of women had passed, I was left to help him. He commented on my necklace—the shell of a sea snail I had drilled a hole through. On this particular day I had paired my snail necklace with my black and white feather earrings. I think it worked somehow with my bright pink blazer, though I can’t imagine how.

Regardless, it made an impression on this Australian, the hottest boy to come through that office door since Alexander you-know-his-last-name-and-let’s-not-come-up-in-his-(I’m-sure-many)-stalkers’-google-searches. But he lacked Alexander’s rather…shall we say…blatant egotism, and handled his good looks with pure grace. I could have swooned. I was a good flirter, though, when I had that job, and I utilized those skills that day.

Months later when he came back to retrieve his deposit, he asked if the girl with the crazy jewelry still worked there. I wasn’t in, but Betsy said that I did and gave him my email address.

What followed were a couple dates—dinner at that Chinese place down on University behind the McDonald’s, dinner and a party in the city.

He was fun, we had fun. He was so gorgeous I could take out my most preposterous fur coat and wear it in the city without shame.

For our third date he suggested the Sheryl Crow concert. He had tickets.

We never had a third date. I didn’t really return his calls after a few days.

Yes, I’m an asshole, but we knew that. I was busy and you know had this mountain of reasons (Sheryl?!) and… I remember the last time I talked to him on the phone, g. and I were at the pub having beers and I was supposed to go out with him later and if you’re me and you’re having beers at the pub with g., you just don’t leave and you come back and get your car the next day. I said something like, “oooh my fish tank fell over and I have to mop up six gallons of water! Let’s hang out someday soon.” And never called again.

Yes, I’m an asshole, but we knew that remember? Months later I regretted giving him up so easily and, after seeking Betsy’s guidance, wrote him an email:

Heard a romour that you were seen on Northside of Berkeley today… Is it true? If so, any chance you’d want to get together sometime? The timing’s better for me now.

Hope you’re well,
Susie

No response. I rather assumed he had correctly ascertained my nature to be capricious. I rather assumed that he didn’t want to see me again. That maybe there were even some hard feelings there.

Fast forward a couple years, and today I’m walking into the Happiest Place on Earth for my tortilla eggs, and there he is. I knew him immediately. I tried sooo hard to avoid sitting next to him, but the Universe planned it so that the only empty table was the one right next to him, and…

I was getting water when he came up. I hope I looked surprised!! Like I hadn’t already been staring at the back of his head for the fifteen minutes we’d been in line. I hope I didn’t look as hungover and unshowered as I felt, but I think I did. I really hope my face didn’t turn as red as I know it did. It was an agonizing couple of minutes. I just felt soooo bad for never calling.

I rather wish, now that it’s over, that I could have had my druthers and talked to him longer, found out what was really going on. He is the hottest boy* I ever went out with after all.

And he said it was nice to see me.

Which just goes to show me, that even though I’ve spent the last couple years feeling sorry to have been such an asshole, he moved on.

Duh.

*I like to call them boys because it makes me feel young at heart. This particular gentleman was much more a gentleman than a boy, let’s be clear on that.

P.S. What do you think?