I cringe my way through life. In fact, my life is the definition of cringe. However, I like to convince myself that I go through life with elegance and finesse. Apparently I actually grace life with clumsy, red-faced and awkward actions. One Sunday afternoon was no exception.
Pretending to be très sophisticated, I sat in a café, hot chocolate with whipped cream before me, tapping my foot in a one-sided boy-meets-girl-esque manner, eyes drifting back and forth to the beautifulgorgeousfantastical creation of a guy that wasn't too far away. Ignoring the fact that I was sat there in a far-from-flattering top and worn Converse, I continued on my mission.
Now I wasn't aware of what my "mission" was, but you picture these perfect scenes, don't you: both pairs of eyes meet before the boy sits in front of you, ukulele in hands singing of your eyes and hair, one's fairy-tale has lift off. Just me? Alrighty. Okay, he looked over. Here we go. Mind in a state of HE'S GORGEOUS, HE'S PERFECT, LET'S GET MARRIED way of thinking, I took a wee slurp of my drink. He was smiling. He smiled.
Now to proceed further with one's mission. I smiled slightly - just slightly - and he grinned back. A grin: better than a smile. A grin. Looking down in a modest - like the movies - manner, I caught my reflection in my phone. Oh, of course. I had whipped cream all over my face. Obviously. Drat.
Fine, he wants to play it that way. Rude. Despite Mr. Cleanface I continued with my sophisticated ways in life and rather Queen-like dabbed at my face with a napkin. Hrumph.
Well I couldn't leave, could I? Now that would be tragic. So, I stayed, becoming more and more aggressive at my many attempts at the new game on my phone. I could still sense Mr. Whatshisface with no cream on his face sat at the other side of the café and so acted my cool as cucumber self for the next twenty minutes, casually skimming the newspaper on the table before standing up, previous events blocked from my mind.
You know what I need? I need a quick trip to bathroom, as one may call it. Doo de dum, walking through the maze of tables, narrowly avoiding an oncoming angry-looking waitress and an old sweetheart with an adorable hat before I reach the toilet.
I turn the handle and hear a bit of a kerfuffle. Now, here is where I went wrong. A normal citizen would take this as "oh! Someone's using the facilities! A bit embarrassing for the both of us, but a completely awkwardamondo situation saved. Step back and wait!", but no...not me. "Oh Gosh", I said a bit too loudly, people nearest to me hearing. "I think he's in trouble!" This handle had never been too good and so I turned it and stumbled in. I was about to save someone's-
Mr. beautifulgorgeousfantastical not looking so beautifulgorgeousfantastical with his ankles around his trousers or maybe his trousers around his ankles, I'm not sure. It was a strange moment. Anyhoo, you know the rest. Of course, he was, indeed "using the facilities". A few nearerbyers had rushed to my aid from before and awkwardly shuffled off. "I'm sorry," I muttered before, too, shuffling off feeling rather faint.
Goodbye Prince Charming,
Shooting stars & Toffee Apples,
The Girl in the Moonlight.