I woke up this morning, again, next to my love, Miss Brit. I wanted to stay in bed all day but was craving poached eggs and ice cream. I went to the food store, overdressed (or underdressed, if you want to be literal), in last night's outfit. I was searching for the cheapest turkey bacon when someone said "excuse me" to get by (NYC supermarkets have the most narrow aisles ever). I looked up and locked eyes with the most beautiful guy ever. He had shoulder length dirt blonde hair with matching beard, wearing skinny dark denim jeans and a tweed brown blazer with elbow patches, and was holding a bicycle helmet. I stared for a moment too long. I loved his style. Here was someone else who was just a little overdressed for grocery shopping on a Saturday afternoon. My first thought was to make a joke, "Ha, are you also still dressed from last night?" He looked to put together though. The opposite of my greasy hair and wrinkled clothes, he looked like he showered and got dressed this morning.
I passed him a few more times and kept thinking, "Think fast! Say something witty." What could I say though? He was holding a large bag of potatoes. "I love potatoes!" I really do, but that might just sound weird. What if he was making a nice brunch for his girlfriend and her potato loving family? We checked out at the same time. This was it, last chance to say something. I couldn't think of anything. I'm lame.
He put on his helmet, got on his bike, and rode away.
I came home, made poached eggs for the first time, with a side of turkey bacon and daydreamed about sharing my brunch with the guy with the beautiful hair and the bike helmet.