Deal Breaker

Conversation was flowing so good: we were chatting, smiling and having fun; all was good, all was well. She is one of a kind, well, let I say, she was. No, she isn’t dead, she is so much alive and kicking shit like hell. But the thing is, she is a rare species, though still belonging to the human race, yet defying mother nature on many levels. She bares a tempting smile, with sparks of glaring empathy fatigue, indeed, she is one of a kind. In a way, she walks, so sleek, with gentleness escalating from beneath each foot step she takes. A voice, smoother than an oil pipe, I came to accept, she was the one made for I. Unfortunately, fate mocked I from a rare view, as usual. And as the conversation progressed, she said: “my husband…”.

I must have blacked out in my mind for some good time. To present day, I have no damn idea, as to which series of sentences followed, during that conversation, after she mentioned: “my husband. And no, the conversation didn’t happen too long ago, it was only two days back. Worry less, I was soberer than a self-proclaimed designated driver, on a Sunday afternoon.

Strange, it is, as well as a shame, for a charming conversation to suddenly go south ways, soon as she mentioned husband. We had been conversing for more than forty minutes, and no hints of her having a someone in her life came up. I must be losing my game: so, I blame it on this thing of I trying out adult shit, as well as being sensitive, to other people’s sketchy feelings. Speaking of husbands, it has been a while, and I don’t recall, encountering a someone wearing a ring? Is it because marriages are a rare thing lately? Or, do I simply ignore individuals wearing marriage rings in general? And I used to think that this thing called marriage, was a myth.

There is this sort of insensitivity which springs up, when I suddenly bump into individuals holding hands. The same kind of shit happens sometimes, when I encounter a lady, and in her left, is a tiny human, of a being. Although I am not a female on her period, allow I to bitch a little bit. Ouch, I just mentioned the “p” word. Sorry not sorry, I shift the blame to how biologically I was hot-wired.

As I mentioned before, it is better for one to mention what they want, to avoid endless awkwardness, and weirdness. Oh, shit, I should have followed my words. Perhaps during initiation of my conversation with this friendly and lovely lady, I should have informed her, that I am interested in her. Well, that’s not an easy thing to say to a someone; you have randomly just met. Well, it would make sense, say it was at a night hangout spot, but not on a sidewalk. However, in case you do, you will probably end up being called a creep.

Dialing back to her, although I don’t remember her name, and somehow her contact ended up shuffled in hundreds of contacts seriously dry humping my phone’s storage space, I am playing it cool. I know, that sounds a bit jerky, but it’s the damn ultimate truth. Unfortunately, I can no longer get the imaginary image of her being dry humped by her husband, out of my goddammit mind.

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