I went to Jack-in-the-Box today. (No, that’s not the “every girl’s dream” part.) I got an Acapulco salad with grilled chicken. I squeezed one wedge of lime onto my salad, and another wedge into my diet Coke. I listened to some other people’s conversations, and ate my salad, and listened some more, sent a text message.
Then I looked up, and a well-dressed, tall man was standing next to my table.
“Hi! What’s your name?”
“Shauna. And yours?”
“Nice to meet you, John.”
“You’re beautiful. Let’s get married.”
“Thank you! No.”
“We’d have some beautiful-[redacted] babies, I’m telling you. Can I have your number.”
“No?! Why not?”
“Um, I have a boyfriend.”
“Honey, he might not be the right one for you, you know what I’m sayin’? Come on, please?”
“Thank you, I’m flattered! No. Bye!”
Little did I know that if I would just go into the restaurant instead of going through the drive-thru all the time, my lunch breaks would be a lot more interesting…
Last night I took W to This American Life, the live broadcast. We had a less-than-fabulous-but-not-terrible burrito at Costa Vida, (where I got a caffeine-free diet Coke – W says they’re a company based in Utah). I got the tickets last week, and I was going to surprise him, except Monday he somehow managed to figure it out, while he was in southern California.
Even though it didn’t end up being a surprise, the show was wonderful. Funny, real, interesting (just like the radio show)… and we both agree that Ira Glass is cute. I got too little sleep last night, and I shouldn’t even be writing this right now (I need to get Connor off to school and get myself to work)… except that I’ve had all these ideas for blog posts, and I have written precisely zero of them in the past few weeks. This bugs me. So I write.