Ten Tiny Love Stories Page #5

and has jet-black hair.

And he's grinning

like he's been watching me

making a fool of myself

and he's enjoying it.

He waves me over and to make it worse,

he's handsome.

So I convince myself not to collapse

and pull myself together.

I walk over to him,

we shake hands, and I say,

"You look nothing

like Keith Carradine.

You look more

like Dudley Moore."

He laughs out loud and...

he takes it well.

But we both know

he boned me good.

He did. He did.

And so...

after I sit down,

I realized

he didn't stand up.

It really bugs me

and I can feel myself

getting into a bad mood,

but I'm fighting it.

He smells good...

and he has beautiful hands.

I like that.

That's my favorite part

in a guy.

And then he orders drinks

for both of us.

He refrains from flirting

with the waitress.

She was flirting with him,

but I can be thankful for that.

And then he says, "So?"

And he puts both hands

on the table

and sits straight like,

"What can you do for me?"

And so, I realize

I've been talking to him

but his English is flawless

so I asked him,

"Why is your English so good?"

He explains

that his mother's Irish

and she sent him to bilingual school

in Buenos Aires.

And then, as part of

this background information,

he says to me his mother

killed herself when he was seven.

She hung herself.

And he mentioned it

just in passing.

That completely

changed everything.

Not because of the suicide,

but of how he mentioned it.

So quickly.

And I asked if he had siblings

and he said he was an only child.

He suddenly seemed deficient.

Yes, he was charming

and handsome,

but he didn't...

like he wasn't

good enough.

So then,

he starts drilling me

with those date

question talk things.

And so I'm doing

most of the talking.

He was funny, okay?

But something

just snapped in me.

I got bored

and I could sense

he was feeling that,

so he became less animated,

and I switched gears,

trying to have fun,

and I thought,

"This isn't going

to work out,

but don'tjudge him,

give the guy a break."

So after dinner,

I notice

he's staring at my foot.

My legs were crossed...

so you could see my foot

at the side of the table,

and I had flat open-toed shoes.

I had my toenails painted.

And he says,

"You have big feet."

My first instinct

was to uncross my legs

and put my foot down,

but I didn't.

I just left it.

And I said, "Do I?"

He said, "They're as big as mine."

And he puts his shoe

next to my foot,

and they were nearly

the same size.

"You have big toes,

like Fred Flintstone's,"

he said.

I burst out laughing

and he just smiled.

He knew he was hurting me.

And I wanted to leave...

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