The second I laid eyes on him, I began sizing him up for the tuxedo he would buy for our wedding. I studied his hair, his teeth, his eyes - imagining what our two daughters and son would look like when they were babies, children, teens, adults. I hoped they would have my nose but his eyes. DEFINITELY his eyes. Then he spoke his first words to me: "Hey, sweetheart. Regular oil change?"
Oh. Don't listen to me. I made up that last part. Someone else asked me if I wanted the standard service, some lowly oil jockey. The guy on which I had pinned all my hopes for my future marriage and family was the MANAGER of the place. He ran the show. A man who can make decisions. Large and in charge.
I talked about him before, but I didn't update my readers on how our relationship has progressed. I really think he's going to pop the question any day now. Wait. I think he probably already did. Years ago. To someone else.
I gave him my number. He called me and asked me to lunch. He stood me up. I threw away his phone number. He called with some lame excuse. I accepted a second request to meet up. He said he'd call later that week. He never did. The end.
Savia was right. I should have waited outside his workplace and followed him home and hid in his bushes until he wasn't looking then snuck in his house through the unlocked sliding glass door and crouched in his closet til he was asleep then slit his throat as he let out his first snore. I mean, I should have kicked him to the curb the first time!