Tabatha Deans

Bringing Integrity to the Written Word

I had several hours to kill before it was time to eat my bologna sandwich. The starving writer diet works well for me as a diabetic, rationing food and timing my meals is really something I should be doing anyway. But today, I wasn’t particularly looking to my afternoon meal, mainly because I had already eaten the last of my potato chips, so I was facing just a sandwich for dinner. Determined not to sit and fret about it, I headed out to the library to kill a few hours. I needed to get out and socialize anyway, I was beginning to feel like the crazy squirrels around here, who rush out for food or necessities, then rush right back home to enjoy it and keep it to themselves.
I made it as far as Colfax when I came across a group of people who were standing around in the parking lot of Office Depot, chatting with each other. I smiled as I started by and was stopped by a kindly looking lady, who was standing in front of the open trunk of a mini van.
“Would you like some lunch?” She asked.
“Lunch?” I was dumbfounded. Why would strangers in a parking lot be offering me lunch? Did they think I was homeless? I did a mental check to confirm that I had indeed showered, applied make-up and was wearing clean clothes. Yup. And should I accept lunch from strangers in a parking lot?
“Well, I could use some lunch. Who are you guys and why are you giving away free lunches?’ I asked. She smiled as she placed a sandwich, some brownies, an orange and a bottle of water in an empty bread bag for me.
“Oh, we’re from a little church up in the mountains. We come down here once a week to meet people and share lunch.” I looked around the group and they all looked clean, sane, and just plain nice. I accepted the lunch and they tried to explain to me exactly where their church was, which entailed explaining to me where the mountains were since it was a cloudy day and I couldn’t see the usual landmarks.
I thanked them graciously and walked down the street with my lunch. I passed several people on the street who asked me for change for the bus, and I told them that I didn’t have any change on me, but they were giving away free lunches two block up Colfax. Rather than taking my lunch home to enjoy it, I stopped at the small park near the capital, and enjoyed my lunch in the company of dozens of fellow Denverites who stop there each day to eat, smoke cigarettes and chit-chat.

I was standing at the bus stop on 17th, carrying my newly purchased rug. It was a steal of a deal at 20 bucks, and just the addition I needed to make my apartment feel more homey. A little bit of retail therapy goes a long way, so even though I knew I would have to carry all 5 by 7 feet of it home, I bought it. When my bus approached I muscled the rug and myself aboard with very little effort, and flashed the driver my ecopass. He was stunningly handsome, with mocha skin, dreadlocks, a muscular jaw and a well trimmed mustache. I took one of the seats close to the front, where he could see me in his mirror. He smiled and welcomed me aboard, and I commenced checking him out. At the next stop, a semi-unstable lady boarded the bus and sat next to me, where she proceeded to dig in her bag for her transfer ticket to hand to the transit hottie.
When he reached back to take her transfer, I noticed his fingers were adorned with a lot of gold rings. Pretty, feminine gold rings. I did a double take in the mirror, and yup, the mustache was still there. He was definitely a guy. When we approached the next stop, I paid close attention to his hands. Along with the many gold rings I noticed that he also sported a really nice manicure, including acrylic, frenth-tip fingernails. Hmmm. I wasn’t sure what to think. Perhaps he was a man who just liked pretty rings and a nice manicure. I’m not exactly sure what the politically correct word is for a man who has lady hands.
But it set me to wondering. In my search for new friends and perhaps a lasting relationship, how judgmental was I willing to be? What if he were a man who just liked nice hands, and he asked me out on a date? Would I go? Would I judge him? Would I be freaked out and immediately turned off by this character quirk? He wasn’t wearing makeup or anything else that would make him appear to be a woman. Should pretty things only be reserved for women? I didn’t figure out how I would feel about that kind of diversity in a man. I’m still wondering…

May 18, 2011 - Posted by | Uncategorized

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