Alas

Last night, the strangest thing happened. A bunch of friends and I were having an extended dinner on the local patio (the one where, last week, they refused to serve you - and, yes, I gave the manager an earful). We'd been there for over six hours. As we were leaving, we wriggled by a table of three girls who were chatting with the owner. One of the girls, a cute little thing about five feet tall, caught my eye.

"Hey", she said, tapping my arm, "Can I ask you a question?"
"Sure," I said. I stopped abruptly and simultaneously prevented the egress of our party .
"Tell me," she said, leaning forward, "If I asked you to grab my hair, and then kiss me, would you do it?"
She had terrific hair - long, dark and silky. Perfect, really, for grabbing. Fetching lips too. Caught in the headlights of her question, I froze. Her friends giggled.
"Um, sure," I muttered. "Sure I would...yeah, of course I would. I mean, why not?"
In the ensuing and awkward silence, she flashed a knowing glance at her pals. I turned to my friends for clarification and support. And the owner watched on, expressionless.

I think the appropriate thing would've been to have bent over - or even better, to have pulled her to her feet and possibly, beyond - grabbed her lovely locks and kissed her roughly on the mouth. After all, that did seem to be the suggestion lingering in the air. But since my friend knew the owner, so did my his housemate, so did I, and since the owner clearly knew the girl...well, a bold grabbing-and-kissing gesture seemed a bit risky. So, instead of ravishing her, I sat down and settled for an extended, flirtatious talk. My friends went home. I stayed.

As it turned out, earlier that night, she'd been out on a second date with someone her cousin had introduced her to - a classic 'set-up'. Apparently both dates had been uneventful. So, well into the second one, and frustrated by her suitor's lack of response, she'd asked of him what she'd just asked of me.

And he'd demurred. When she'd asked again, a short while later, once again he'd refused. By the end of the date, she'd asked him four times and, in each instance, she'd been rebuffed. Quite honestly, I couldn't imagine it. After all, she was remarkably pretty - a spark-plug of a girl with twinkling eyes, an easy laugh, and a bouncy step.

Sitting next to her, commiserating, I wondered if she were waiting for me to go boldly where he had not. It was a strangely arousing but, nonetheless, nerve-wracking experience. In the end, I took her on a cuddle-bound tour of the van, sitting just beyond both the patio lights and the curious gaze of her friends.

Afterwards, we exchanged business cards and, as she left with her friends, I hugged her long and tenderly. She seemed both happy and grateful, her esteem re-established and her sexiness confirmed. All in all, not a bad night for a boy.

Still, on the way home, all I could think of was you. That's the reason for the sometimes snarky and impassioned post below: (Im)probability. You see, the next morning I woke up with her business card beckoning. Here was a lovely girl: single, available, close to my age (or, at least within a decade and a half), sexy as all get out, and eager to be seduced. But what to do?

You see, I can't imagine anyone quite as cool as you. Yes, I know you're unavailable... but that undeniable and non-negotiable fact doesn't make one thing easier. You are still terrific - and everybody else a bland and pale substitute. Alas.