I am threatening to march over to his table and leave my business card on it.
Which, to be sure, since I can't even manage eating when he is sitting at the next row across from me, up one table, is not exactly something I would ever be able to do.
It would, however, in theory, blow him out of the picture, because men don't like it when women are forward.
Or at least, I don't like it when women are forward.
Today, however, he looked and looked and looked at the sky, peering at it in a most exaggerated fashion to determine something that must have been awfully important, before sitting down to eat.
I buried myself in my taco bowl, so I wouldn't be thought to be aware that he was there.
I think he needed to determine the degree of sunlight.
Were I him, I wouldn't be sitting in a Southern sun at noon, in the summer.
And the little outdoor eating area has more tables under the patio roof than nakedly in the bare sun anyway.
I am like that. Always like to sit at the same exact table, every day.
But about the time I got calmed down enough to manage noticing again what I was eating (and had even cast a wee glance his way. To be sure, I did not have my glasses on so could not have seen anything anyway, even if I had been glancing at him, rather than merely over at the exact table where he was sitting.
I didn't look but the merest of glances, anyway), he stands up, huge in his exquisitely tall thinness, and all of it in that very bright sun, shakes out his paper (as if one of those men of old who came home from the office, oxford shirt still as crisp as when he put it on, sat down to read the evening news while his wife puts the dinner on the table: she would be wearing a proper shirtdress and an apron over the skirt)...
And walks around to sit on the other side of his wee two-fer table!
The sun had been in his eyes (I could surmise) and he could not read his paper!
So he is facing me!
Needless to say, I buried myself even further in my taco bowl.
He really is a handsome man, and I can tell that even though I didn't look over his way one bit!
But he is a goof-ball, and rather like someone I hold very dear.
Err. That would be me.
He seems exactly like me.
And one me is exactly enough for my small life (and sometimes too much!)...
It has been at least two plus weeks since I have seen him. I did mention that.
You see why it would be much better to do something to get me out of this torture! But I really do not want a man that does not take the first step.
With him being as nervous/high strung as I am, however...
It would be a disaster. And I am still certain he smirked, instead of smiling, that day, so he is probably not made of the caliber of saint that I would prefer.
But the main thing is I am aware how much space men tend to take up when they invade a woman's mind and I just do not have room.
So.
There it is.
Washed him out of my hair again and that is that!
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