So, there I was yesterday, in the middle of the droning, neverending mindless talk.
Power point presentations for godsakes, at 8 in the morning on a Saturday!???
Anyway...being bored and perpetually like a 16 year old girl, I notice a cute guy across the aisle.
The gaydar goes off like sirens in the blitzkrieg,
even without him saying a word.
He's dressed in a suit, perfectly fitted. His legs are crossed in a ladylike way at the ankles.
He's too cute to stand.
He looks like a Banana Republic mannequin.
For the next hour or so, as the monotone of the speaker hums along, interrupted only by the clicking of the powerpoint slides, I find myself obsessively glancing over.
He's clearly not one of us (he's white for christsakes). He must be one of the speakers. Even from 30 feet I can tell that he's from the north. (There must some sort of Northdar I have too, more reliable than that gaydar by the way.)
About an hour later, who is speaking, none other than *him*...with his fashionable (but in a pretty suburban Banana Republic sort of way, of course) suit, and cute little glasses. I'm so excited. I'll get to hear him speak. I'll get to stare at him for an hour with impunity now!
The fantasy factory in my head goes into overtime. He's going to be my husband dammit.
Someone thrusts a handout for his slide show into my hand.
I open it up and read, excitedly:
Mr. Banana Republic is a child psychologist from Illinois.
Oh, and he's also a monk.
God is seriously messing with my brain, I tell yah.
I can't take it no more.
Anyway, 5 minutes of work tonight yielded a picture. It does *not* do him justice, alas.