Dealbreaker

A couple of weeks ago, during that ten second thaw we were having, I went out for a walk. The sun was actually shining for a change and the snow was rapidly disappearing.

Leaving behind enormous puddles that flooded every sidewalk and street crossing.

But I was prepared.  I was wearing my Sorel “Alpines.”  They’re high, their traction is great and the fleece-lined model is warm and toasty to boot.  (Sorry.)

Sorels are the Humvees of the footwear world.  They can go through anything.

So I felt confident that morning that I could dryly navigate any watery abyss Dame Nature could put in my bank-bound path.

Thus I strode down the street, fearlessly cutting a wake through sidewalk mini lakes and alleyway rivers.  Until I was confronted by the Mariana Trench.

This was a puddle so deep that I couldn’t see the bottom of it.  And so I hesitated- just for a second-  to make sure that my Sorels wouldn’t get swamped.

In that split second a voice hailed me from behind.

“Would you like me to carry you over it?” asked a man.

I laughed and turned around.  “That’s very gallant of you,” I replied.  “Would you play Sir Walter Raleigh and lay down your parka for me?”

Now it was his turn to laugh.

He caught up to me and together we continued up the street.

(I never tire of the ironic fact that I write a blog called Letter From Elba and I now actually live on Wellington.  And I smile whenever I come to the charming little cul-de-sac called Waterloo Court.  What are the odds?)

And as we walked shoulder-to-shoulder, we made conversation that went something like this:

Me:  Thanks for offering me the lift.  But I’m wearing Sorels and I can wade through anything today.

(What I was thinking: Hmmm….not bad looking but a little old for me. I bet he’s forty if he’s a day.)

He: Those are great boots. Where did you get them?

(What he was thinking: Not terrible.  I wonder if she’s single.)

Me:  Colorado.  I used to live there and I’ve just moved back to Chicago.

(What I was thinking:  I wonder if he’s got a girlfriend.)

He:  Where in Colorado?  What do you do?

(What he was thinking:  No boyfriend.  I have to keep her talking until I can find out if I’ve got a shot.)

Me:  Aspen.  And I’m a writer.  What do you do?

(What I was thinking:  Why is he walking around on a week day?  Doesn’t he have a job?)

He:  I’m an attorney.  Where did you go to school?  I went to U.of C.

(What he was thinking:  There.  That ought to impress her.)

Me: Goucher.  I was an English Lit major.  What did you major in?

(What I was thinking:  Oh, God.  I hate lawyers.  But still…University of Chicago. Well, he can’t be dumb.  I wonder if he likes crosswords…)

He:  Philosophy.  I would have liked to have been an English major though.

(What he was thinking:  Old face but not fat.  That gray hair though…)

Me:  Do you like crossword puzzles?

(What I was thinking:  If he likes the Friday and Saturday ones, he’s got a shot.  If he’s a “Sunday” only guy, we’ll see…)

He: I have a New York Times in my briefcase right now.  And I love the Sunday one.

(What he was thinking:  Good thing I’ve got my Times with me.  Now she’ll know I’m an intellectual.  This won’t take long.)

Me:  I get the Weekender edition.  I’m really only interested in the Friday and Saturday ones.

(What I was thinking: Gosh darn it.  Another pretentious yutz who thinks the Sunday one is hard.  Too bad.  But get real, Ellen.  Aren’t you getting sick of being alone all the time?  Sure he’s a little older than you usually like ’em and not that tall, but c’mon. He’s obviously interested in you.  Can’t you settle for once for someone who only does the Sunday puzzle?”)

He:  You do the Friday and Saturday puzzles?  I’m impressed.  And  you’re a writer? Have I read anything you have written?

(What he was thinking:  Oh, no.  A nerd.  And I think her ass is too flat.  Wish I could see her boobs but that orange ski jacket is in the way.)

Me:  You might have. Did you ever live in the suburbs?  I worked for Pioneer Press for years.  Now I write a blog.

(What I was thinking:  Let’s just cut to the chase.  Are you married?)

He:  Nope, I’ve always lived in the city.  A blog, huh?  That’s interesting.  What’s it about?

(What he was thinking:  I wonder.  Is there any money in blogging?  Still, she did live in Aspen…)

He: What’s your name?

Me:  Ellen Ross.  What’s yours?

(What I was thinking:  Oh lord, please let his name be something euphonious- preferably with a numeral after it.  I hate ugly names.)

He:  Tom Bennett.  Pleased to meet you, Ellen.

(What he was thinking:  I’ve never heard of her.)

(What I was thinking:  Hmmm…Mrs. Thomas Bennett.  Ellen Bennett.  Ellen Ross Bennett.  I like it.)

As we stand at the corner ready to go our separate ways…

Me:  Well, I’ve got to go to the bank. Where are you headed?

(What I was thinking:  Should I get his email address and send him the blog?)

He:  I’m going into Binny’s Liquor Barn.

(What he was thinking:  Should I get her phone number or give her mine?)

Me:  Oh, are you buying champagne?

(What I was thinking:  If he likes champagne that’s a good sign.  Maybe I can date a little “older” for a change.  It wouldn’t kill me for once.)

He:  I’d gladly buy a bottle- if you’d share it with me.  But, no, I buy my cigars in there. And at Iwan Ries downtown.  They’re my guilty pleasure.

Me:  How interesting.  Some of my ex husbands liked cigars.

(What I was thinking:   Cigars?  Hell, no.  Dealbreaker.)

He:  Yeah, I can’t live without them.

(What he was thinking:  How many husbands has this dame had?  Dealbreaker.)

Me:  See you around, Tom.

He:  See you, Ellen.

(What they were both thinking:  Whew, that was close.

But no cigar.)