Walking home one hot early summer evening, my regular end-of-the-day kleiner brauner in hand, my stomach begins to revolt. I’m insanely hungry. I stop at the pizzeria just around the corner. A Margherita to go, per favore! Presto! After a short wait I pay and continue my homeward journey. Stepping outside into 30 °C is quite refreshing. Only one more block until devouring this lovely piece of deliciousness.
Still, I notice two young guys standing on the sidewalk next to a shiny car. They are absorbed in their conversation. Still my head already forms all kinds of sleazy comments that will be thrown my way. I try to rein in my temper to not just spill all of the comebacks and insults I arm myself with and bury them.
“What a great walk”, the one on the left says, abruptly cutting off his friend who’s still jabbering on.
I manage to keep a straight face, though it’s hard and my eyes are craving to make their trademark roll. I walk on, tightening my grip on the pizza box under my arm as if a mother protecting her child – ‘take me, but don’t hurt my baby pizza!’.
I ignore them. I don’t turn to look at them, since I wouldn’t be able to manage anything but a frown or a quirked eyebrow anyway, looking all dumbfounded in disbelief. As the the next line is cheap –
“What great legs!”
So, he’s not finished his spill yet. A tiny tiny part of me might be a little flattered. Deep down below all the defensive disgust I may feel a little honored, but still it’s not enough to make me falter from the plan – ignore and walk on with my ‘great legs.’
I’ve almost passed them when he adds:
“I’d really like to go eat a pizza with you some time?”
I burst out laughing. Wow! He just wiped away the hollowness of the two proceeding sentences with this. The resonating innocence is delightful!
My laughter subsides, but I can’t get the smile off my face. This last comment really surprised me. And its innocence is nothing but plainly sweet. I can already image telling the love story to our grandchildren – “It was your fathers love for my legs and our shared hunger for Margherita pizza that brought us together …”
So my friend is right about giving men at least 5 to 6 sentences before writing them off. Too bad he wasn’t my type.