Drool Magnetism

Things you won't expect to happen ever, happen at the most inconvenient times.

Well, sometimes anyway. This morning I was up early. I am not a huge fan of early Saturday awakenings but seeing baby smiles made it seem like nothing. We decided we needed some things from the store so I threw on some sweat pants and a winter fleece (because yes, Winter has arrived early on the front range and there's snow on them there hills) and ran to the grocery store.

I had three things to buy and was planning on in-and-out when I bumped into someone I sorta know through someone else. Well, it was actually half of Station 4 (yes, Fire Station) partly made up of a friend of a friend and also, that guy's cousin. Oh Lord, how I'm so charmed by these chance meetings. Thank You. I don't exactly know what happened but somewhere between the baking isle and the dairy isle, I gave a guy permission to get my number from our mutual friend. Of a friend. Or something like that. I have no idea how this happened, I couldn't duplicate the situation if I tried. Apparently, as my sister informed me when I returned home, the attraction may have had something to do with the baby spitup on my shirt. Now that's hot.

It gets better.

After a protein and caffeiene-packed breakfast I decided today, in all it's thirty-eight degree (F) glory was a great day to do my long run. I set out for ten miles and somewhere around mile three I started passing a few more runners. I was impressed by this as early cold tends to shock people into denial but also, I was lost in the new Pearl Jam record and wasn't really paying attention. It was windy, so my hair was blowing out of place- and by "out of place" I mean totally all over the friggin' place. I was sweating, but also, my nose was running. It was sunny, so I wore shorts- but also, it was close to freezing so my legs were red and slightly numb. (I know, I'm crazy. Blah, blah blah.)

Anyway, about mile three I notice I'm being paced. Okay, whatever. It happens sometimes. I glance over, it's a slightly tall man that I know can run faster than he is. I say nothing, and continue to zone. A walker approaches in the opposite direction so my pacer has to cross the path and is now right next to me. I glance over, he says "hey." "Hey," I offered in return, certain the snot was running straight down my face. We chat a little, I turn down the iPod. He flirts, I try to remember to breathe. I ask myself no less than two thousand times what is going on. Somewhere during mile seven, I agree to a running date next Sunday, weather permitting. No numbers exchanged, barely first names. If the weather is too bad, there is a coffee shop near by.

I finished my run, returned home and immediately went to the mirror to check for spitup. Sure enough, the sleeve of my shirt had some sort of drool-like mark. No one knows what it was for sure, but I'm gonna venture to say the next week of going out in public with evidence of having been around a baby is quite possibly the best way to find dates since Rush Week at college.