Yesterday as I was leaving my local videoclub, a guy approached me [yes in the middle of the road] and said “Perdona, you are beautiful, can I take you for a coffee sometime?”
Totally put on the spot, I said that I only had a week left and that I’m not sure I have time.
To which he said “you have the most beautiful eyes I have seen, what about tomorrow? day after? you pick a time and place.”
My reflexes were totally saying no, so he gave me his name and telephone number and told me to think about it and call him if I want to.
A bit flustered, and flattered – I walked home. Now this has happened to me before, but the reason I am writing this post this time, is because this dude was actually quite handsome. His name was Roberto: bright blue eyes, tanned, long hair in a pony tail, clean teeth, jeans and a dark blue T-shirt.
Not hot-that-you-want-to-jump-on-him types, but charming in his own way. And I began to think – how many times does a good-looking man approach you -pleasantly enough, says something nice and asks for a bit of your time.
Yes my first thought was – what kind of decent guy stops you on the street and asks you out? But then I thought, what’s the difference if he was on the street or in a bar? or in a shop or at work? How else do you meet guys? There is no right-or-wrong way.
So why didn’t I want to go? Perhaps it’s a bit desperate? but then again it isn’t much different from a blind date or an exchange of telephone numbers in a night-club. Does it matter that he approached me on the street?
How much do you need to know a guy before going on a date? when I start to get to know guys, we become friends; friends that you don’t want to date because they have entered the too-much-of-a friend zone.
Guess it all boils down to what you want. There haven’t been many times that it has been crystal clear that I want to be with someone. However, irrespective- it’s always been disastrous. My luck with men stinks. Perhaps that’s why I have my guards up too high.
Hmmm.
I can’t call him anymore as my memory has failed to remember his number. But if I did, perhaps I would have. But then again, he was Italian. Guess I can imagine what he really wanted. But then again, wouldn’t you be upset if he didn’t?
We women are complicated.
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