close encounters on the way home from the grocery store

i gave the bathroom a thorough cleaning, finished up the laundry, and then walked the dog. a fairly typical Sunday (a day for industry and efficiency), except that c has been out all day on a date with her "for the most part" guy.

she did some marketing yesterday while i was hanging out with Sarah, but i wanted to pick up a few more things for the week, and some green tea ice cream for the Mad Men premiere tonight. i also needed a new toothbrush, not to mention drano. i've been bearing with a clogged sink for more than two weeks now. it finally became unbearable.

ripped jeans, a cleanser-stained t-shirt, and a smudgy pink hoodie are my ensemble. nude lips. bare ears. completely unadorned and schmada as Sarah would say.

anyway, i was walking home, very mindful of my ice cream and the heat--still oppressive at this time of day. deep into the narrative of the audiobook i was listening to on my iPod, and pulling my grocery cart behind me at a good clip, i started to imagine the most seductive evening of television watching. ice cream, candlelight, and Don Draper in Baltimore circa 1964.

i saw him first. for a split second i hoped it wasn't him. not because i don't look great at the moment, but because seeing him now, weeks before i am supposed to see him, felt like a violation of something.

spontaneously, i invited him (via evite) to a small gathering at my house scheduled for early next month. i didn't take a moment to consider why i was doing it. per Malcolm Gladwell's Blink, these "in an instant" reactions and decisions are the ones to trust. Besides, an e-mail he'd sent early last month opened the door. i wasn't thinking of it as a "door" at the time, but clearly it was because i had chosen to reciprocate in some way, and this was it.

anyway, it was definitely him. things are rarely convenient. we stopped and talked. in typical fashion, i tried to walk away before the encounter was over to protect myself from wanting it to be anything in particular, but he kept talking. so i kept talking. and it got easier to stand there telling anecdotes, giving the condensed version of my life.

eventually, i made my back home, my ice cream melted in the warmth of the sun, the narrator of my book intoning her internal conflict over the one who got away...