My conscience sat me down. It wanted to give me a stern talking to. You’ve heard of the guilty version right? Well this one made me feel guilty.
“What were you doing back there, or to better put it, what weren’t you doing?” asked my conscience.
“Where and when?” I knew exactly what it was talking about, but sometimes I like to let it wear the pants. So I’ll do a little pretending.
“That girl. At the check-out. She was cute as. She was a dime!”
“I’m not sure if she was quite a dime,” I shot back. Besides, I didn’t like it when guys spoke in Don Jon slang.
“Well anyhoo, she was cute. She was nice. Man, she was nice boy. And you didn’t do anything!
What was I supposed to do? She is at her work station, not to be disturbed.”
“But you wouldn’t have been disturbing her. Didn’t you see the way that she was smiling when you were conversing?”
“Isn’t that just a woman being nice? And how do you know if a woman is being nice in the sense that they want to be naughty?”
“You get a fucking clue, that’s what you do,” muttered my conscience almost in exasperation. “Didn’t you notice that she asked about your shirt? She complimented you on it.”
“So what? That’s the shirt she liked, not me.”
“She didn’t care about the shirt. Well maybe if it had Justin Timberlake on it, but you were wearing a fucking basketball top. What girl cares about the NBA?”
“She said that she had a friend who liked basketball who she had to buy a birthday present for,” I stated, “so she was just inquiring about where I bought it.”
“Cry me a river please!” My conscience was clearly upset now. “She was going out of her way to make conversation with you. A woman does that when she likes you.”
“So is that like one of those signal thingys? I think I’ve heard people talk about these before. But whether I got a sign or not is beside the point. There were others behind us in the aisle, waiting to be served.
“Yeah, but not in the way that she was maybe hoping to serve you. And this is your time to live! Maybe for not much longer, but it’s still your time. That was an older couple behind you. They are no longer hoping for life changing encounters. Do you really think that they would mind the extra thirty seconds to offer and then give that girl your phone number?”
“Perhaps not, but oh, it’s all so confusing! Nothing is set in concrete. Everything is left up to interpretation.”
“That’s what is great about life,” insisted my conscience. “Life is unpredictable and magical. Contrary to a zebra, it’s not just black and white.”
“And that’s why I never know just when to make that crossing.” Talk about hitting the nail on the head. “There is never an appropriate Segway for can I give you my phone number.”
“Of course there is.”
“What? Looking at you I can see high digits in my head, so why don’t I give you mine?”
“That’s exactly what you should have said! But to pose it as less of a question, you know, tell her what she wants.”
“But I don’t know what women want.”
“They want you to be more assertive.”
“Probably.” I was really smirking quite a lot now.
“Especially with that Chicago shirt, you should have at least felt a little bullish.”
“I’m just painfully shy.”
“I’d say you’re just painful.”
“Stop it!” I said playfully. “It all works out okay. I get to use women for stories.”
“Yeah, because you don’t get to use them for sex.”
There was much smirking.
But that’s how men grow,” I continued. “When we don’t get what we want.”
“But isn’t it a little unhealthy to never get what you want?”
“I wouldn’t quite say never,” I giggled. “And it’s really not that bad at all being ineffable.”
“Ineffable? What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means that I’m loveable.”
“Oh,” my conscience pondered. “Maybe that’s not so fucked after all.”
Created: Mar 10, 2014gregoryrowlerson Document Media