I walk in, see the line isn't too long, and stand behind a man with huge - packages. Checking him out from behind, I am enjoying the view of loose-fitting jeans, the back of his head and scruffy black worn cap; I look up at the security mirror near the ceiling and catch a glimpse of his profile - strong face, light facial hair, cap pulled down enough to shadow his eyes from this angle. My eyes return to the man who's just pushed his huge packages up a few inches, the slight movement in the jeans making me smile, the strong back covered in some cottony-worn greenish jacket. But the shoes. Not horrible, but some sort of odd sandal - clearly those can be ignored, as I'm not much of a foot guy anyway. No, it wasn't the shoes that ruined that all-too-brief moment. He turns slightly, just enough to show his entire face, but too busy to notice me while he turns again downward to concentrate on some customs or insurance mail form. Damnit! I know him. Not only do I know him, but he's married, and I know his husband! GRRRRRRR. Why couldn't I have had just one more full 60 seconds of wonder, imagining, forgetting about everything else?
Monday, February 23, 2004
You know what I hate? Besides Barbara Boxer, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Log Cabin Republicans, Nader-haters, stupid people who can't read apartment-share ads, my new glasses that my eyes haven't adjusted to yet, my ever-shrinking bank account, this insistent depression, my lack of any sexual contact for over 7 weeks...... blah blah blah.... What I really hate is the all-too-brief reprieve from all that and so much more that happened in the post office this morning.