didnít wanna wake up. I had exactly one hour to drive home, take a shower and drag
myself into restaurant hostess hell.
The joys of being me.
As soon as
Iím conscious, itís bad. Because
all the glorious nagging doubts show up.
What is he gonna do? Completely
blow me off? Do I have to
tiptoe out all by myself as he lamely pretends not to wake up?
It would be just my luck that my dream guy at night would be a
total dick in the daytime.
But heís the
perfect gentleman. Walks me back to my car, gives me a huge hug where he lifts
me off the ground again and kiss. ďI
had fun.Ē He whispers.
ďMe too.Ē I say.
And he doesnít move as I get in my car and drive away.
He lets me leave first. And
itís not until Iím at the stop sign that I realize no numbers were
into the restaurant, snarling at Tony, smirking in the kitchen.
Oh this is bad. I
feel like Iím in some post hook-up haze, I canít see straight, I
canít think straight, all I can do is think about him.
Thank the many merciful stars above my managerís not here.
Iím so totally good for nothing.
And of course,
the inevitable fade. I
swear, I spend all day waiting for the fade, so I can go back to being a
normal thinking walking talking person.
All the doubts that rise up Ė he couldnít wait to get rid of
you. Heís shocked at how
incompetent you are in bed. Ė just a complete swarm that rises up and
eats away at the glow. And
Iím hoping they will, if only so I can get over him, to quickly resign
myself to reality.
heíll be there. Heíll
always be there now, looming in the corner of my head, a constant what
if. Heíll probably stay
there for at least a year, and Iím 99.9% sure that Iíll never see
him. Heíll be there just