so i ordered chinese food

i ordered chinese food for dinner – mu shu pork, but that’s not the story, here.

my food arrived earlier than anticipated, already a pleasant surprise.

and,

and.

the delivery guy was a handsome hipster.

dark green plaid shirt, black capris that fit perfectly, and black, sleek pumas.

windswept bangs.

winning smile.

i gaped, unabashed.

‘you . . . are dressed very well for a delivery guy. not what i expected.’

he smiles and sheepishly admits, while holding the receipt i must sign,

‘i don’t have a pen with me.’

giddy with the opportunity to impress my delivery-hipster (delipster?) guy, i say,

‘i’m sure i have a pen in the house.’

internally,

‘idiot. idiot. he thinks you’re stupid. of course you have a pen, joel. you can save this. you can fix this.’

i get a pen and return to the door.

‘my preconceived schema of delivery drivers is currently crumbling to the floor.’

much better. i’m regaining my footing.

‘it’s always a good day for a paradigmatic shift.’

he says.

i mutely sign the receipt, stunned.

i think i’m in love.

i didn’t get his number or his name.

but i will never forget those windswept bangs.

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