The Text

Me. Cutie. Bar. Drinks. Talking. Music. Laughing. Touching. Flirting. Kissing.

Then: nothing.

I think: Meh, Whatever. Plenty 'O fish in the sea. 

Two weeks go by...

Me. Apple picking. Hanging with friends. Laughing. Bike riding. Improvising. "I don't care, la la la... Boys are stupid, la la la..."

...Wait a minute. I just got a text, hold on.

Cut to a clip of a mushroom cloud exploding over a  license plate that says "Boyz R dumb" The entire screen falls to ash!

I pick up my phone. Who is tha-- oh. Oh wait a minute! OH MY GOD! It's HIM! It's the Cutie! It's HIM! AHHH! Waddoidoo!?!

Cutie: Wanna meet me for a [booty call] drink? Dinner?

Ummm... Yeah, maybe, uh sure, I dunno, uh. I guess that place sounds good. I'm trying not to sound impressed or excited or interested. Ok. 7 sounds good. Ok. Bye.

ohmigawd! Cutie and I are going on a date. Hmmm... I feel like I can remember the inside of his mouth better than what he looked like....

I'll look him up on Facebook, like you can look up a recipe for chicken soup. Oh, waiiit. It's coming back now. He's not on Facebook. Yet another unique and courageous soul who has managed to keep away from the demeaning and over saturated content that I feed myself consisting of the nasty fast-food of local pop-culture, photos of cats and stupid updates about going to the gym from friends of friends I met once at a party in college.

Oh, I love going "Old School" on this and waiting to see and learn something about this guy when I meet him in the flesh again. No preconceived notions about the photos of him doing jagar bomb shots on a bar in Colorado with a bunch of hot chicks I don't know. Instead, I can get to know him in real time.

Bring it!