Hey, You!

Delayed Romance

You and I were on the same twice-delayed flight to Long Beach. When we finally got on the plane, I saw you looking at me from your seat and I felt all blushy up and down. You were a cute, plugs-in-ears, alternative guy, the kind of guy my boyfriend is not but who I just as easily could have ended up with. When we landed, I got on the shuttle to the remote parking, and you happened to be sitting next to me. You struck up a conversation with me and made me feel like a single girl again; you had an amazing smile. It turns out you work only a couple of blocks from my house. You don't know my name. You don't know my address. You don't know I have a boyfriend I am completely devoted to. Still, for that moment you made me feel—if you'll excuse the corny turn of phrase—like a natural woman. For what it's worth, if I was single, I would have asked for your number.

Send anonymous thanks, confessions or accusations—changing or deleting the names of the guilty and innocent—to "Hey, You!" c/o OC Weekly, 1666 N. Main St., Ste. 500, Santa Ana, CA 92701-7417, or e-mail us at letters@ocweekly.com.

 
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