Let's Make it / Yeah, We'll Cause a Scene
Don't be fooled into thinking my eyeshadow looks this good, though. Brad's given me too much credit in the using-makeup-without-looking-like-I'm-from-Jersey department.
Anyway, I am pleased to announce that I have officially formed a functional, healthy, and even pleasant relationship with the Crosby newspaper salesman. He used to be the dark cloud over my walk to work, greeting me every day with some kind of lip-smacking noise and the sentence "HellohowareyouIlikeyourlegs." A couple of days ago, I interrupted him after the "how are you," and answered "I'm fine. How are you?" before he could croak out anything lewd.
He looked thoughtful for a second and said "You know, nobody ever asks me. I'm okay." And that was that. Now, every morning he says "Good morning, how are you?" and I say "I'm fine, how are you?" and he responds "Good, thanks." Today he complimented my blazer, without so much as a word regarding any of my womanly parts.
This has really inspired in me an Anne Frank-esque belief in the fundamentally good nature of the human spirit. Consequently, I expect to be mugged and raped on my walk home.
From the Department of Extra-Marital Affairs, I'd like to report that the hot dad was indeed on the 5:12 yesterday. He's subscribed to the Times crossword online. He told me he's "in training," starting with all the Monday puzzles. He asked me where the Taj Mahal was (Agra) and then stumped me with one he couldn't get. I told him it'd probably hit me in the car on the way home, or else I'd yell it out just when I was falling asleep. Then the clouds opened, sunshine filled the cold, rainy night, a chorus of angels rang out in perfect harmony, and he said:
Don't worry, you can tell me tomorrow, 'cause I'll still be working on it.
What's that, hot dad? Do I have a date to talk about your crossword with you tomorrow at oh, say, twelve minutes after five? Second car? I'll be there with bells on.
And nothing else.