Tuesday, January 24, 2006

Accumulated Regret #412

Another wasted opportunity in the life of Stacy Without An E.

Sigh.

She has cropped red, curly hair and mesmerizing blue-green eyes. Full lips and a petite little figure.

And I was in line right behind her at he post office.

What began as a quest for 2 cent stamps became an excruciating exercise in my lack of Confidence.

She could feel my eyes dancing all over her. I couldn't help it. It wasn't my fault, really.

Red Headed Cutie kept turning her head, her eyes peering just past my glance as if to say, "Go ahead. I won't hurt you, I promise."

This Glancing Dance went on for a good twenty minutes. I wanted so much to squeak out a simple, "Hello," but my good friend Lame Excuses kept pummeling my Self-Esteem with what I considered prefect logical reasoning:

"It's too quiet in here, someone will hear you flirting and shake their head in dismay."

"She'll give you one of those 'why are you talking to me looks' that you won't recover from for weeks."

"You look like hell today, what's the point?"

"Redheads have evil powers. Beware."

"Having this silence detonated by her laughter will cause you to run screaming from the post office."

I finally worked up enough courage to ram Lame Excuses square in the groin. He bent over in excruciating pain and spit up a little blood on my shoe.

Now was my chance.

Of course, I went into immediate Clever Flirting Mode and tried to devise a plan in which to open the conversation.

I know. No man is his right mind should spend this much time devising a Flirting Plan, but I'm no ordinary Stacy.

Which is quite unfortunate for me.

"Should I accidentally bump into her?"

"How about the ol' Dropping the Mail at Her Feet Routine? An oldie but a goodie."

"Maybe an overexpressive yawn to entertain and address the boredom of the local Post Office?"

I go for Dropping of Items Plan #32. Preparing to execute.

As I drop my Change of Address form on the rarely cleaned Post Office floor, a window opens up. Red Headed Cutie manages not only to quickly take her place at the counter, but leave a huge footprint on my paperwork.

She didn't even notice.

As I exit the fine government institution I glance at the symmetrical shapes her shoe left on my forms.

A simple, yet painful reminder that my Courage is walking around in someone else's body, confident in the knowledge that he'll actually get some use.

And I'll once again retire to my apartment, alone and fully responsible for my current dateless situation.

Damnit.