I was staring at you so hard in my rearview mirror that you could probably feel my eyes on you if you were paying attention. I'm sorry. You probably weren't.
I heard you first. As you pulled up behind my car, I could hear the rumble of a worn engine. I wasn't sure what to expect. I was thinking dumptruck or huge piece of machinery. A loud piece of machinery. The noise was so loud that I briefly forgot about my sausage mcmuffin and yogurt parfait. Very briefly - I'm sorry. I looked up and there you were in your big old monstrosity of a pickup truck. The truck was older than I had originally thought. Big and rumbly. Probably a work truck.
After sizing up the truck, I spotted you in the drivers seat. You were probably 50-ish from what I could tell. It was morning, and I was half asleep so I could be off a few years either way. I'm sorry. Your hair was gray and white, and very sheepdogish. Thick and full and falling over your eyes. You had a full beard. You looked comfortable and worn like an old flannel shirt. I think you were wearing a flannel shirt. I like flannel. I liked how you looked. A lot. Mostly why I kept staring. I'm sorry.
My vivid imagination took over at that point and I started creating your backstory. I'm sorry. In my head. As a self-proclaimed professional people watcher (this is a thing), I do this a bunch. It passes time. I'm alone a lot. Never bored or lonely, just alone. So I imagine. I imagine things about unsuspecting people such as yourself. Because I liked the way you looked, I immediately made up a story that you were married and unhappy. That you had a plain-jane wife and she didn't need you or get you. That you were bored. That you sat in front of the television night after night, not speaking. That she didn't appreciate you like I would. I'm sorry. I changed the story. You and the wife were madly in love and you have date night every Thursday, you laugh every night at silly shows that you both enjoy, and that you were in the drive-thru to get her coffee and bring it to her in bed because she was off work and you love her. You love her so very much that you were going to be late to your own job just to make her smile. I really didn't like that scenario because you were cute but I thought it. Then I scratched it. I'm sorry.
I then began thinking that it would be great if while we were pulling out of the drive-thru that you summoned me over, told me I was beautiful (Sans make-up and pajama clad), and said that you just had to meet me. Yep. I thought all of that. I'm a dreamer. I can't help it. Of course you asked me out, we fell in love, and had a great story to tell all of our friends and family.
All of that happened in 60 seconds. I forgot to mention - I'm an asshole romantic. I'm sorry.
Precious Princess's Guide to Bananaland where she is famous for her rants and her blunt, honest, and sarcastic look at life. She blogs both extremely funny and all-the-feels posts at Princess Bananaland. She hates people, kids, and karaoke. She uses all the swears and makes up dirty words. Eventually when she’s done being sloth-like, she will write a book. Be afraid.