A turquoise scarf. A poodle penis. A prosecution.

She had the kind of look about her that could set a pair of sheet metal underpants on fire.

Dangerously careless hair.
A violent golden brown bonfire turned upside down. The flames wrapped around her shoulders and ran down her neck and back with an undeserved sense of accomplishment. They were just strands of protein that hit the anatomical lottery. But they hit it big. How the rest of her doesn’t ignite from the heat, I don’t know. I don’t want to know. It’s a miracle...

A crucial literary revision needs to be made.
Moses is full of crap. It was her eyes that parted the Red Sea. A captivating swirling hurricane of emerald and sapphire that could coerce Paul Bunyan into an hour of Hot Yoga and a pedicure. Her eyebrows were a slanted hazel strand of caution tape that had obviously been broken before. I was not the first to be captivated with curiosity. I’d say it hurt a little, but I was completely numb. (In fact, I had an inconvenient itch in a personal place that I consider myself to have refined a discrete method of resolving in public spaces… but I couldn’t even take care of that issue).

Button nose.
The best of buttons. Darling. The perfection that plastic surgeons strive for, artists dream to create, and Kleenex would pay billions to endorse. Unfortunately for Kleenex, this is a nose that never blows.

It’s one of those perma-smiles.
Because she was gingerly enjoying a Triple Grande Soy Latte with a smack of cinnamon and pinch of pure cane sugar, I couldn’t avoid noticing a set of lips that could end a World War by blowing a kiss on a globe. She must have read something amusing in her magazine, because she snickered silently for a moment. It was like watching a time-lapse scene from Planet Earth on Blue Ray. For one moment, alluring cheekbones and a delicate jaw line framed an elaborate production that presented all that mattered in life. It was a good moment.

Well-dressed.
Light charcoal pea jacket with three large brushed silver buckles on the front. Thin turquoise scarf wrapped around once and bundled into a chunky knot. The kind of scarf that serves as much practical purpose as a “Tough Guy” cotton t-shirt on a 5-pound toy poodle with a penis smaller than a mechanical pencil eraser.

But, they both catch your eye, and they both look good.

Although she was sitting down, I could tell that she had a petite frame, but also seemed toned and was proportionately shaped.

Honestly, she was downright dynamite.

She dressed the way a lady ought to. Sophisticated, elegant, classy, and seasonally appropriate. She wears corduroys once a year in November.

She is a unicorn.

She couldn’t actually exist. This had to be an hallucination. I just needed my morning coffee.

Oh no.

Our eyes locked.                Briefly, but they definitely locked.

I quickly ran a fever accompanied by a building sweat on my palms, brow, back, and the personal place I mentioned earlier.

She stood, grabbed her coffee, rolled up her magazine, tossed her purse strap over her right shoulder, and headed in my direction.

Oh. No.

Standing a few inches from me at this point, she wasted no time asking me a question. For the rest of my life, I’ll never forget what she asked me…

“You are a man that I need. I can’t do without you. Do you want me?”

Completely shell-shocked, I responded with a passionate knee-jerk reaction by saying…

“I’ve been waiting so long for you to ask me those very words. Of course I do. I want that more than anything in this world. Let’s do this thing right now.”



Apparently, I misunderstood what she actually said.

The police report later documented, that with the help of several witnesses at the scene, they were able to collaborate and recall her words verbatim:

“You are a disgusting little man that I need to prosecute for perverted people watching. I can’t do without my morning coffee, but I can do without you. Do you want me to have my fiancĂ© murder you?”

It ended up being a long afternoon.

Until next time:
If a beauty strips you of mind and breath,
It typically results in prosecution or death.