myPortico

Dear Stephanie,

Ah, yes, you’re impressed I know your name. Well, yes, I do. Staphanie…That name is now permanently etched in my soul, to my very core, and was written on your grande coffee cup. You didn’t think I noticed did you? Well, I did.

And that wasn’t all I noticed. I saw those perfectly porcelain fingers caressing that cup with your name written right on it. Yes, those long, delicate fingers which caressed that cup with a sensuality usually reserved for long nights next to a warm fire. Maybe that’s what that cup, and the blissful liquid it delivered, reminded you of on such a cold, blustery day. The warmth of a fire after a long day of play. The moment of calm, and pleasure, that comes as a reward for the day’s activity. Maybe that’s why each sip pressed to your supple lips caused your eyelids to shut soothingly, longingly, satisfied. Mmm…I’m with you, girl. I felt it. I was right there with you.

That’s why I tried to show myself to you. You know, catch your eye. The iPod? I undid the earpieces for you. The coat? You know I made a grand showcase of myself as I took it off. You looked at shirts? I found some books to peruse within view. I was ready for that amazing exchange with you. Eyes locking. Minds connecting. Souls uniting. Right over the display of trinkets and keychains, we would discover “it” and all that comes with “it.” Urban Outfitters was our way station to destination romance. The Outfitters was where we were going to capture the magic of love. You looked good, and I was ready to take it to the highest of levels.

You didn’t have to play aloof, though. I felt the connection between us. I could see it. The whole store could see it!

But I get it. You need that chase. You play the game. A girl like you isn’t going to give it up easy. I’m with you. You’re worth the effort and you’ll require nothing less.

Behind every non-look in my direction and each vacant, momentary glance, what you were really saying was, “here I am, you stallion of a man.”

Somehow, you covered it enough to just keep shopping. Impressive. Your indifference was beguiling. You acted as though you didn’t see me, but I know better. Even as you just kept on looking at shirts. Trying on hand bags. Doing your thing.

And what a thing it was! Your slow, nonchalant movement from section to section progressed like a symphonic melody, almost imperceptibly, but achieved the satisfying climax just the same. The grace of your long, thin legs and the sway of that loose-fitting, custom-designed shirt filled me with the joy a peacock must feel at the sight of full plumage.

Your flirtations were magnanimous. Ubiquitous. I followed you through the store like a rat queuing behind the pied piper. I was yours.

But you were steadfast. You know the game. And you’re apparently quite good at playing it. A lesser man could have easily misinterpreted your tactic as you saying “I don’t actually know you exist.” But I saw through it.

Your patience is commendable, for when you do actually notice me and we meet, it’s going to be all the more amazing. So watching you walk out the store, I realized you played right into my hands. For that was only round one of our little game. The battle is far from over. And next time, you’ll actually notice me.

Until then,
Porty.