To celebrate Wednesday’s snow day (and reward myself for having shoveled the entire sidewalk and driveway), I decided to be truly decadent. First, I rummaged through my mother’s closet for a dress to wear with my new tights, then I went to the bank to deposit this week’s paychecks and finally, I trudged up the gray slush of South Street (which is gray and slushy even when it doesn’t snow) and headed to Starbucks.
There I ordered a medium chai latte, a bottle of Ethos water and an egg white breakfast wrap.
Did you know that a whole grain bagel contains 320 calories whereas a whole wheat wrap filled with vegetables and protein contains only 280? I didn’t. Obviously I’m not eating Starbucks bagels any more… or those yummy looking but equally treacherous raspberry scones— 500 calories a piece!
It so happens that my splurge costs a bit more than the $5 gift card I got for Christmas from one of my students but the upstairs seating area is perfect for writing so I didn’t mind: soft jazz wafting through the background, large windows overlooking South Street and, on this particular morning, two men seated across from me. They were good looking enough for me to feel sufficiently cosmopolitan, but not so good looking as to distract me from my writing.
I had considered going to Philadelphia Java Company, the coffee shop closest to my house, but on account of the fact that PSM#2 frequents the same shop, I decided against it. Not that the thought of an “accidental” meeting hasn’t crossed my mind. In fact, I devoted the majority of my undergraduate and graduate careers to “accidentally” running into people. It’s a wonder I even graduated what with all the time I spent contriving to “bump into” the cute American boy who worked in the gym at Roehampton (and I don’t even like American boys most of the time).
But I’ve moved on. In fact, I’m above such things now. If PSM#2 and I were meant to see each other again (which I’m beginning doubt), it should happen naturally, as in he should pick up the phone and call me. I’m not going to resort to skulking around the coffee shops of Queen Village in the hopes of running into him.
I suspect that complications of this sort are why I have always preferred long distance relationships. Until meeting PSM#2 on eHarmony, I had never before dated a boy who lived within walking distance. It occurs to me now that I actually like having a buffer zone between myself and the man currently occupying the roll of my boyfriend. Ideally, I like to be separated by at least a bus ride, if not an entire country or even continent.
Date #17 lived exactly one bus ride away, as did my boyfriend in London; these arrangements, at least in terms of geographical proximity, were absolutely perfect.
Without a buffer zone, I become prone to idiocy. Stalking potential soul mates is beneath a woman of my… well, it is beneath any woman for that matter. Especially if she happens to be 25 and the man in question already has her phone number.
(PS: It was different in the UK. The cute American boy who worked at the gym in London didn’t have my phone number. Obviously he was so blown away by my charms whenever we met that he simply forgot to ask; I had to take the initiative on that one.)