I can’t explain why I have absolutely no problem frequenting just about every independent coffee shop in town, but I’m nearly monogamous with respect to bars. When my wife and I first met, we ran into one another at two different cafes in the same day. She started calling me a coffee whore. Apt, I admitted, but of course that makes you one too.
My body can’t process caffeine like it used to — I could drink coffee at midnight and be asleep by 1AM. Now, I can tell a difference eight hours later if I have any after about 3PM. Even ignoring sleep disruption issues, I’ve been looking for some other spots to hang out. A friend suggested the local university, but I’m too susceptible to Dirty Old Man Disease as it is. Then I remembered the library. I spent a good part of my teens there, but forgot about this wonderful institution after college during the rise of the internet. A crying shame too.
For the past few weeks, I’ve been telling myself I should try spending the morning or afternoon there, but it wasn’t until today that I actually followed through. But first…
This morning, I walked to my favorite downtown spot and soon after I sat down, noticed the arrival of my favorite regular. I’ve seen her there several times, tall, beautiful, redhead (oh to break my losing brunette streak), always has a book, and she’s usually alone. She’s got this fantastic fashion sense, and even though it’s winter, I think she’s got a thing for cute skirts and leggings. (What a coincidence, me too!) I must admit there being no particular reason for mentioning this except that these outfits accentuate her butt. I’ve never considered myself much of an ass-man, but it’s enough to convert the wickedest non-believer.
Ask her what she’s reading, I said to myself, but instead I stuck to my work and before long she was packing up to go. It’s hardly anything of note, though I admit she’d already made enough of an impression that I was thinking about her with no minor fondness without seeing her in several days.
Fast forward to the library. There’s a coffee bar just inside the front door. Before I even had the opportunity to grin at the irony, who ["whom" ed.] do you suppose is working the counter?! So much for avoiding late afternoon caffeine.
Oh universe, you sly, mischievous motherfucker, you.
[Ed. Note: This is likely an example of selection bias. You remember noticing the girl because she's the girl you "randomly" happen to have both 1) run into at a new place and 2) remembered fondly. This is statistically inevitable, not the universe treating you special.
And I done told you about the scarf. The one your wife made you. That women comment on. Women you're trying to hit on. They mention it. The scarf your wife made you.]
I’ll be glad to see Spring.