I couldn't believe I had a blind date for Valentine's Day. How the hell did that happen? Well, all right, that's another story altogether.
A long one. So here's the short one, about my blind date...
She told me he'd been tasty, back before the pubishing buyout wars. Said he was still gorgeous, in his own special way. But how tasty could an editor be, hunkered down and lumpen, sitting in his chair all day, ruining his eyesight reading and reading, the only spark in sight the fire in his imagination, in those folded secret places back behind his eyes?
So I expected nothing much, no fanfare of an entrance, no waylay of emotion. Just some middle-aged guy in a nondescript suit, walking in anonymously and finding my table at the restauarant. And I'd look up, say hello, and we'd exchange banalities as we sipped our wine.
I checked the entrance with my peripherals, and sure enough, the suits filed in. Beige and gray and navy and black...and then, a shocking, shocking blue, blue enough to notice, blue enough to say I've arrived.
I sucked down the first glass of white wine, grinning big at Him. Oh yes, it was Him. Evil Editor. The man in blue.
And what made him even better was, he wore a black turtleneck shirt under that blue of his. God, I love turtlenecks on men. Makes me want to undress them. Makes me want to dive on in. If he'd been wearing his traditional cravat, I'd have been polite, even adoring, but I'd never have gone craven...
So...here we sit now... in my hot tub, many glasses of wine later. The man's amazing. And his muttonchops? The soft-stroking feel of lambswool, and not only on his face..oh yeah, what was I supposed to say? Come whisper in my ear, baby. Ummmmm. Right. Right. "Happy Valentine's Day."