this was never meant to be…

“This was never meant to be
All the signs were there to see
From the first moment that we met I knew
This was never meant to be”
-Sting

Got a call the other day from a friend wanting to catch up. She’s a good friend and it had been awhile.  Like most people, the rigors of life keep us from connecting as often as we’d like.  When we do though, a good time is always had by all.

We were to meet at Marlow’s Tavern – a typical bar / restaurant, slightly upscale for the Atlanta market – with good food and a nice ‘big city-esk vibe’. Dim lighting, black and white picture / art, with dark hardwood floors and modern fixtures.  I find the ambiance enjoyable and the people usually a hoot to watch.  Tonight was no exception…

When I walked in the restaurant, I held the door open for a lovely young lady who I let go in ahead of me.  I was ultimately seated across the isle from her, and got a real good look as I sat down.  She was radiant. Mid thirtys.  In good shape, but not at all athletic – she had the body style that typically haunts  in her 40’s, but is firm and curvaceous now.  Slightly over dressed for the venue and made up to the nine’s – She was clearly anxious for her date to arrive.  What stuck out – no pun intended – were her breasts.  They were, for lack of a better verbiage – perfect… and intentionally put on display.  Not in an obnoxious fashion, but she knew her features and wasn’t afraid to accentuate.  Hey – if you got it, flaunt it…

We exchanged glances, and smiles.  That acknowledged but unspoken nod that says, ‘I’m being polite but am waiting for someone and don’t want to get busted…’. The more I looked at her, the prettier she became – not because she was a stunning beauty, but because she clearly took the time to make herself up to impress someone – and it could have gone either way.  Some woman have a natural beauty, others have learned that they need to make an effort.  The fact that she was conscious of her presentation was as attractive as she was.  Long, thick dark hair and just the right amount of make up – with a summer dress that said – in a dark sultry voice – ‘The teeth may be bleached and the nose was fixed,  but the breasts are all mine.’

Some time went by and our glances became more regular.  Both of us sitting there, alone, looking at each other, waiting for our dates to arrive.  Not talking simply became uncomfortable. Besides, I wasn’t going to be able to fake looking at the TV over her shoulder much longer….

I waited until I caught her eye again.

“I sure hope you are meeting a date.  It would be a crime to waste that dress on a friend”.  It never hurts to be flattering, right?

“Well, aren’t you sweet”.  She blushed slightly while her very southern accent spilled out all over the floor.  “Ah am waiting on a man.  It IS a date actually. How about you?”

“Nope just a friend.  Which is why I get to compliment your dress.”  The blushing continued.  Never a bad sign.   “Looks like they are both a little late.  If they don’t show soon, I’m moving across the isle…”

She smiled and as she started to respond a man came in and sat in the booth across from her.  A nod was added to her smile pointed in my direction.  I replied in kind. He was one of those metro-sexual types that was – frankly – slightly prettier than she was.  Looked to be in his early forties with a solid jaw line and a muscular build.  Tall, dark and handsome. Bastard.  I think I could take him…

Watching her trying not to look in my direction was entertaining.  When he turned to me to see what she was looking at, I looked right him and nodded.  You know – the unspoken ‘congrats – your girl is hot’ nod that confirms my intention to admire from a distance. He replied by acknowledging in kind.

My friend arrived just in time, and luckily for me, was a vision as well.  I couldn’t help but smile as ‘tall dark and handsome’ checked her out while I stood and gave her a hug.  We men are such pigs…

Bella is six feet tall barefooted and loves to wear heals.  It’s not often I hug a woman who is as tall as I am.  I have to say, everything seams to line up quite nicely when I’m not picking a woman up to hug her.  To say she is athletic would be an understatement – an avid runner, she does several triathlons a year.  Her short blond hair floundering appropriately, she is a vision when she enters any room.  The best part though is her intellect.  Yes – “mind and body are one Grasshopper”.  I consider myself a student of Psychology;  A honorary degree from the University of Life; undergrad at the school of hard knocks.  Bella has a PHD in Behavioral Psychology – although, it’s from University of Alabama, so it’s a toss up as to which of us actually knows more.  Needless to say, I enjoy getting under her skin and we always enjoy bantering back and forth a bit.

“Hello beautiful.  I see you are wearing heels tonight”.  As we embraced I couldn’t help but notice that she was substantially taller than I.

“Got new boots!”  she exclaimed.  “Aren’t they great?”

She pivots, raises a pant leg up past her thigh revealing a knee high black suede, high healed boot.  Since a lot of my friends are woman I’ve learned that different things impress people differently.  I’ve also learned that the key to being referred to as ‘my favorite bitch’ by a woman, while still remaining heterosexual, is to provide affirmation of things that would normally mean absolutely nothing to me…

“Almost as great as the legs under them” I confirmed.  This is good stuff.  I should right this down….

We start with the usual small talk, but it doesn’t take long before her comments turn to ‘Tall Dark’ and the ‘Betty Boobs’ to my left.

“Did you see those?!?”  She asked.  “They are perfect!”

“I hadn’t noticed.”  I replied.  With a straight face yet…

“Bullshit!  There’s no way YOU didn’t see her.”

“How do you know that?”  With her it’s always fun asking a question when you already know the answer.

“Uh, ‘cus we’ve met before. Are you really trying to tell me you didn’t notice her chest?”

“Would it be worth my time to defend my position?”  I asked

“No way.  Hell, they are beautiful!  I’m sitting here thinking about touching them myself. You don’t stand a chance…”. She looked right at me, calling what was really a crappy bluff to begin with.

I smiled back.  It’s always nice to talk with someone who gets you.  In this case, not being apologetic that my moral center is a little further left than it should be – and not being there alone.

“Of course I saw them,”  I replied.  “I actually had a brief conversation with their owner before you showed up.”

“Until I showed up?  Or until the hunk of man sitting there with her sat down?”.  She was smiling like the cat with a canary in its mouth. I replied as sheepishly as possible.

“Yea.  You don’t know me…”  Busted.  Totally busted.  I never stood a chance. I still think I could take him though.

Our drinks and appetizers came, conversation resumed – but she was hooked on our new friends.  Pondering life’s mysteries sometimes isn’t as entertaining as ogling the couple seated across from you.

“That’s a shame – He is SO not into her.”  It was hard to ignore the indifference in his body language.

“I’ll bet you $100 she still gets laid tonight,”  I offered.

“No bet,” she countered.   “I’ll bet you $100 she never hears from him again.”

“Ditto.  Not only is he not into her, but she is clearly trying way to hard.”  I was watching the tell tale laugh / hair flip combo. nicely done.  I’d give her a solid 8.5 on delivery alone.  Bonus points for ‘accidentally’ laying her chest ON the table repeatedly…

“I don’t think it’s a first date.” I observed

“Nope.  I’m going to say third.”  She said convincingly. Her powers of observation were always more detailed than mine.  Or at least she offered them with more conviction. “They met here instead of him picking her up.  He’s wearing light colored blue jeans with flip flops and she’s ALL done up.”

I may have to rethink some of my wardrobe choices next time I’m on a date…

“And he is way prettier than she is.”  She added.

“This coming from the gal who likes to date homosexuals”.  This is always a fun rock to turn over…

“No. I like Metro-sexual men, and you think that all Metro-sexuals are gay.”  Not defensive, but firm as usual.  Starting to sound rehearsed though.  Not the first time we’ve gone down this road. One day I’ll have to ask her if she is trying to convince me or herself..

“First of all,” I said, “I see nothing wrong with a man being Gay.  Second of all, I don’t think all metro-sexual men are gay, but I do think all of the men YOU like are gay.  And finally, I think half the reason you are attracted to them is BECAUSE they are gay.  But as we’ve agreed before, none of that really matters…”

“Then what does matter?”  She was smiling the same way she always does.  Like the process we go through is far more enjoyable than the relevancy of the out come. I, of course, agree.

“What matters is that if these guys are homosexual, they shouldn’t be dating you – or her for that matter.”  I head nodded to our latest topic of observation.

“Why do you think that you know more about the sexuality of the men I date than the men I date?”  She asked.

“Simple,”  I said, with as much nonchalance as I thought she would buy- “Because I have nothing to loose by acknowledging their sexuality.  I can only imagine outing someone is easier if you are not the person being outed.  In fact, I’d bet some of them don’t know they are gay yet themselves.”

I may be pushing my luck, but I’m there now.  Gotta run with it…

“REALLY?  So your ‘gay-dar’ is better than theirs?”  She wasn’t asking.  She was accusing.  But she was still smiling.  Which meant I won this one…

“Sure.  Aren’t most people better at diagnosing other people than themselves?  About anything – love life, careers, etc?  Why would being gay be any different?”   Checkmate.  Nothing’s more fun than out psyching the Psych Doctor.

“OK.  But he’s not gay.”  She duplicated the head nod across the isle.

“No, he’s not.  He’s just not that into her.  He will have sex with her tonight though.”  Apparently I’m great at getting OTHER people laid.

“Agreed.  Sad actually.  She is trying so hard and he could care less.  If I am ever that girl, please slap me.”  The smile was gone.

“You’ll never have to worry about that. You’ve got me to point out everyone else’s flaws to you.  Besides, you would never be happy being some guy’s beard.  You require carnal knowledge.”  And with that, the smile returns…

“Damn straight I do!  I feel sorry for her though – she has no idea.”

We each took a sip of wine and realized silently that making these observations about someone else’s life was complete crap.  We smiled at each other and ate a bit.  Harmless fun… Time to bring it back home though.  Nothing makes cynicism more appropriate than suggesting something that isn’t.  Appropriate that is…

“Would it be sleazy if I slipped her my number when he gets up and told her to call me when she gets dumped?” I was kidding –  but I could be convinced otherwise.

“I wouldn’t.  She might actually call you.  Besides – that’s kind of like an attorney handing out cards at a driver’s training class. Betting the odds changes when you show the players each others hand…”

By the end of dinner, she was sitting on his side of the table and they were all over each other. We thought about buying them a room, but mutually decided against it.  If only they had some friends around to warn them of their impending train wreck.  The view a good friend has of any relationship you are in is inversly proportionate to your ability to see clearly yourself.  We concluded that we would watch each other as we date other people – making sure neither of us is at the table across the isle…  Well – unless we wanted to be.

Getting together with an old friend is always enjoyable when you speak the same language – and better when you get a show thrown in for free.

‘Course that’s just how it looks through my eyes.  Your view may be different…

-B

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