There are so many sad stories being told today at Starbucks.
It’s weird of me to say that, I think. I’m at my own little table sipping generously on a Cinnamon coffee concoction, ear buds stuck in my ears without the music turned on. It’s just for appearance—I’m eaves dropping.
I’m a people watcher. And now eaves dropper, too, I guess. It’s how I was raised; a full diet of pasta and people peeping. My parents once went to sit in an airport as a date, for the sole purpose of people watching. Yes, you heard me right. They sat on a bench in an airport, their version of a movie theater, and just watched folks dance around. Made up stories about the families trotting along to their gate, guessed who was coming and who was going, my parents’ eyes wide with white wonder.
When was the last time you’ve heard such a thing as said date? Now, we go to the movies. Dinner? Maybe. Drinks, probably. But to the local airport to see humans waltz in between each other like the threads in my Christmas sweater? Rare, my friends. So very rare.
If I’m being honest, here—and I should be since it is the New Year—I should probably tell you something: I’ve never been on a real date. You know, like the kind where a guy asks you for your phone number and tells you he wants to take out to dinner, and the two of you sit at the table, teetering between the fall into awkwardness and the ease into comfort. I’ve been out for coffee, several times, but only been on dates once securely in a relationship with a boyfriend. That does not count as being on a “real” date, am I right? Nod with me, here.
I’ve recently turned 23. As I look at the number now, I have to say, I like the looks of it. 23. It seems promising. It’s an odd number. It feels…lucky. I think this is the year that I won’t want a boyfriend. Or a date. Even if it does involved people watching from a bench.
This is the year that I catch up with an old friend, a very reliable and capable young woman who actually has a great deal going for her.
Yes, I already have the Valentine’s Day plans drawn up. A bottle of white wine and a pile of good old fashion movies (nothing sappy of course), paired with a blanket and sleeping kitty cat. I’ll wear leggings and my favorite oversized Irish sweater, slipper socks with my hair coaxed into a little French braid. There will be candles and twinkle lights, left up from New Year’s and Christmas. And people, I will enjoy every bleeping minute of it.