Tuesday the 40th
We were layered up and walking with our Tim Hortons coffee. You left your lid open so it would cool, and I went straight in for the mouth burn. You didn’t say much, and I was cool with that. I didn’t like your voice. For an English teacher, the voice was all wrong––growly and sandpaper rough. Like you were a smoker or a blues singer from way back. But your profile didn’t mention either of those things. Said you were into long walks and dogs and Raymond Carver.
Now that I’d seen you, I didn’t believe much of what you wrote. You look like your photo, I’ll give you that, but the smoky eyes and pouty lips seemed lined with a bit of crazy in real life.
I was looking at you when the kid threw the ball, the ball hit your hand, the coffee dumped all over your front. You didn’t scream or yell, gotta say I was expecting it, but you didn’t. You cut the date short.
Maybe you didn’t like my voice either, who knows but my morning got a whole lot better as I walked home, sipping my coffee, the sun coming through the trees, warming my face. Got me thinking, it might be time to try that other dating site.