cowness

Today went smoothly well. I was productive at work. Plugging into good music helped me concentrate--oldies but goodies lent life to an artificially cool afternoon. The night ended with preparations of client folders and Cynthia Alexander. I was prepared to head back home and immediately engage in some tyding up (my apartment desk and my life). As I was ambling down the gate 2.5 overpass, I sneaked a peek at Jollibee and thought soup might do me good. Not that they serve good soup. It's just that it's the closest and fastest way to drink soup. My throat was still scratchy from the weekend's flu. I needed soup but I still gave dinner with real soup and real people a chance. I messaged lai to implicitly ask whether she'd like to have dinner. I dashed to National bookstore to wait for her reply.

Nothing really interested me much among the rows of fiction except "The Fountainhead" by Ayn Rand. It looked interesting especially that the protagonist is an architect (I have this long-standing fascination with architects). I rounded up the contemporary fiction section and found myself shuffling through poetry. Rio Alma's book with artwork by Ang Kiukok engrossed me for a while. My peripheral vision prompted me to shift my gaze upward. That's when I saw Lemony Snickets. I shifted my gaze back down. I wasn't sure if it was really him. He was directly accross me, too close. Just a chest-level shelf of paperbacks separated us. I stole a peek again. This time I was surer. It was him.

The short crop, the gray polo and slacks fooled me for a bit. It was a far cry from the longish hair and "estudyante" clothes I was more used to. I pretended to examine the splash of colors in front of me. I had a feeling he saw me and that he knew I saw him. But I couldn't get myself to acknowledge his presence and pretend I was surprised to see him. Not that Lemony Snickets and I have a history. For those who do not know him, here's a PREVIOUS POST ABOUT HIM. It's just that he's a nice person and is my epitome of a what-if. Anyway, I bit my lip as he moved away, hesitated for a millisecond at my row and then probably decided I was not worth the effort of a hello. Argh. Why does a woman always have to do the first move? And why do I have problems with that? It's just a stupid friendly hi. I couldn't even do it.

Lai had not yet replied, I figured she was asleep in preparation for a night of thesis-writing (or Wimbledon). I left the bookstore with a 180 degree scan of the place. Lemony Snickets was no longer in my visual range. Fifteen minutes later as I was heading home, I uttered an entire block's worth of obscenities to myself. If it weren't for the take-out food I was lugging, I would have whacked my head numerous times. I. am. such. a. cow.