Tabatha Deans

Bringing Integrity to the Written Word

THE JOY OF DATING…FINALLY
I think the match.com days have run their course, and, as reluctant as I was to try the whole online dating thing, I’m happy to say I’m having one of the best times of my life. I finally feel like I belong here in Denver, and where I used to walk down the street with a not so happy look on my face, I now wander the city smiling and making eye contact with all I meet. Turns out a smile goes a long way, and is even contagious when combined with the East Colfax 15 bus, a few other people and broken air conditioning.
It’s been officially 17 days since my last cigarette, with the exception of one tiny slip that entailed two puffs, in a state of stress, but I quickly came to my senses and stopped. My skin has a glow about it, and the tiny lines and wrinkles seem to be diminishing. My clothes smell good, I can bike up a dam and 10 miles to work, my throat doesn’t hurt and I no longer live with a crushing guilt about smoking. I have to give a big thanks to my friends at 7-11, who have supported me from day one, even though they knew it would be a daily revenue loss for them.
As part of my daily ritual, I still go next door daily, only instead of buying cigarettes I buy a Tootsie-Pop, sunflower seeds and fill my water bottle with ice. Estella is my favorite clerk there, she’s been kind to me since the day I moved in and did all my grocery shopping at 7-11. She’s a beautiful Hispanic lady with an adorable accent, and is never to busy to listen to me complain or gush about my day. All of the clerks, both male and female, who work there have heavy accents of one nationality or another—some Hispanic other Middle-Eastern, and the cab drivers often park their cars and hang out there as well. As I went for my late night lollipop, the night clerk asked me how many days it was for me. I proudly told him, and he, along with the other clerk and a cab driver all congratulated me.
“Congratulations Tabatha!” I heard someone say in English, and was surprised to see my neighbor, number 33, aka James Bond, in line behind me. They all wished me well and the older clerk confided in me that he stopped smoking 25 years ago, but still wakes up at 2 a.m, with the urge to run out for a pack of smokes. The cabbie bought my diet Pepsi, and the clerk threw the sucker in for free, and I walked out feeling like I was the most important person in the world. At least on my block.

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June 20, 2012 - Posted by | Uncategorized

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