She is digging out lottery
tickets, peering intently into the black hole that is her purse. He is reaching out carefully, with a soft finger that he brushes against her cheekbone. His face moves close to hers as he holds up the finger nearer to her lips. "Blow, Baby," he says "Make a wish
". She does, smiles, and kisses him.
Watching them, I am envious. The warmth about/between them is palpable. When the doors close behind them as they leave the store, I lean over to my co worker. "Yeah, I want that". I say, still entranced
by the afterglow they have left in their wake.
The limo driver who stops in regularly for coffee comes up to the counter. "Did I hear you correctly?" He asks. "Sign up for Match.com".
Do not, I repeat, do not
suggest to me to register with Match.com
or any other dating service
do not, as in ever
Mr Limo Driver takes my wistfulness with my co worker as an invite for a discussion into the wonders of online dating services.
There is no way in hell I will sign up for one of those. I am quite forthright with the man. Pleasant, but declining. He insists on telling me how great it is, except for the couple of whackos he met.
Thanks, but no thanks, I tell him
"But you could meet The One!"
I end the conversation abruptly with "My ex-husband put himself on an internet dating service, while we were married, using pictures I had taken of him. He abandoned me in California, took my children, and moved way the hell to Maine, completely disrupting not just my life and his life, but the lives of our children and our extended family to be with a woman he had never even met. No thank-you. I do NOT want anything to do with any kind of dating service."
"Wow", Mr Limo driver says to my coworker, in aside..."She has issues"