Tuesday, April 24, 2012


My sweet little jalopy Betsy has been in and out of the shop this past week with some broken parts. 

Today after work, I once again must rush Bets over to the mechanic, arriving with about 30 seconds to spare before closing. She's smoking this time. . .and I'm a little freaked about it.
All my anxiety melts away, however, as I step out of my car and the silver lining of all this mess comes strolling out of the office. My mechanic: Fred.

Don't let his name fool you. He is a beautiful specimen of a man. I haven't seen him directly in a few months, only spoken to him on the phone (his dulcet tones are mesmerizing) and am a little shocked to find that he's let his hair grow out. . .it's usually shaved. A few seconds later, though, I'm acclimated to the look and jelly-legged, following him into the office.

While we stand across from each other, I stare deeply into his baby blues and forget every.single.one. of my words. Gone. All I can think is that his nose is perfect. How does someone even end up with a perfect nose? I try to pull myself together and focus so that I can appear competent and in control of this situation (I don't want him to think I'm a totally clueless, idiot girl who has zero knowledge about cars) Alas, our conversation proceeds like always.

Fred: "So, what the problem?"
Me:  ". . .umm. What? I mean, the problem?
Fred: "Uh, with your car?"
Me: "Oh, yea right. Umm, it's, like, doing this thing (at this point I'm frantically scanning my bank of words to remember the name of the thing it's doing. smoking. SMOKING!) It's smoking!"

Before I know what I'm doing, my hand is slipping up to start curling a lock of hair around it. A trill of nervous laughter escapes my lips. Realizing that he's not going to get much more of value out of me, Fred gives up and moves on to confirming my phone number. 

I watch his lips form the numbers and imagine him using my number for more than just telling me my cars ready. Does he have to try to get his hair mussed just so like that? 

And then, our interaction is over. Fred's dismissing me from the office, I'm smiling weakly and telling him to have a great night and to take his time with the car (??). I leave the office and have the same thought as always. That man is probably robbing me blind, and I don't even care.

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