The Boy Behind the Sliced Meat Counter

This evening after a tall-dark-two-for-one smoothie stop at Starbucks to write my novel, I hauled my personally-trained ass up the hill to buy dinner at a gourmet foods store. I may be roughing it physically, spiritually, and psychologically out here on the West Coast, but as far as dinner is concerned, I am living the dream.

Taking a number at the pre-made meals counter, I locked eyes with the most fantastic looking boy on the other side of the glass. Instantly I fell in love with him and crossed my fingers he would call the two digits on my slip. When he did, I had to stop myself from falling over.

“What can I get for you tonight?” he said, all smoking-hot like.

“Two glasses of Argentinean malbec, a back massage, and you beside me when I wake up tomorrow morning” I replied with my hazel eyes, before muttering “the veggie lasagna” with my mouth.

Heading over to the lasagna plate, our gaze met once again when he reached inside the cooler to collect my order. Playing Desiree in the back of my mind, I felt like Claire Danes locking eyes with my Leonardo as he retrieved the over-priced slice of pasta on the other side of the Plexi-glass window. Passing me the take-out box, I panicked that our love affair might end and ordered 100 grams of sliced turkey to make it last.

Reading his name tag, I discovered that he had the same name as mine. Fearing that might be weird or nauseatingly repetitive, I made the executive decision that nothing could ever come between us and carried on picking out my bridal registry. Having over-spent my budget once he passed me the paper-wrapped turkey, I bid him farewell and let number 38 have her chance.

Walking home, I dream-phoned him in my head and felt totally excited to have a crush pick-up on the other line. His body was built like a dancer’s and his skin was just as imperfect as mine. I am massively intimidated by men with flawless complexions, because every time I get a zit, I feel like I have to call in sick to our relationship.

The entire event had me reevaluating what I am looking for in a man. I am happy to report that as of this moment, sitting alone in my apartment, I am more than content to be with myself. It took me a long time to get back to this point, and I am grateful to have had the 20-something chance to see what clouds look like from both sides now.

However, a part of me feels that physical contact is quite healthy, and that voice at the top of my head understands that it is good for me to get out there. I interviewed a famous gay Canadian playwright once and he told me that “sex was the only thing that got him out of his head.” For once in my life, I completely understand.

At this space and time, I can tell you what I would like to take out of a relationship in the future: commitment, matching cutlery, and the option to raise a family. However, I know better now that at 24 years old I am not ready for that. I can’t even decide what I am going to wear in the morning/afternoon/evening/late night let alone decide who my life partner should be.

That is why the Rugged Fox has decided to get some back-seat action jackson in the meantime. I have placed myself on the internet and this weekend I am going to be unlike myself and attend a couple of Pride events. Who knows maybe I might even return tomorrow night for some more lasagna and ask the boy behind the counter if he has any other sliced meat to offer.