|Posted by Nikki Yeager on November 30, 2009 at 5:19 PM|
First story first, let's call him Darren. Why? Because that's the guys name who's sitting across the room from me in Starbucks.
So Darren is the only person I picked out of the 40 or 50 emails that was under 27. He answered all the necessaries in my post. Most importantly he answered my need for passion in life ("you have to be passionate about something, even if it's just taking the trash out every day. I need someone who loves life").
He responded "I am passionate about many things, the most important being financial markets."
He knows how to use a comma.
"But words like financial derivatives, treasury yields, and futures make me smile."
He knows words that I don't know.
I think I'm in love.
The next week we met for pizza. Me and the boy who's my age. He was charming, smart, witty... confident to no end.
Then he tried to be a gentleman and serve me a slice of pizza.
The flaming hot cheese fell onto his hand and I tried to stop it- but I couldn't. The laughter just exploded out of my mouth.
Poor guy with the burn and me, laughing at his misfortune. I'm such a kind hearted girl sometimes.
I apologized and we moved on, but I still felt a little awful for laughing. I tried to make it better by telling him about my habit of running into large objects like walls and doors. He just stared at me with a grimace on his face. I thought it was a "you're so mean" grimace so I overcompensated by laughing a little louder. Being a little manic. Talking too fast.
Then he finally called a waiter over.
"Can I have some ice.... I uh, burned my hand..."
I belive he blushed, but I can't be sure.
So me, being entirely socially competent, started laughing again. Loudly. I'm pretty sure it didn't help the pain. Oh, man- that pizza kicked his rear.
I gave him a hug before he dropped me off but the burn lasted weeks.