Foiled Again

Ladies, you know how some days you just don’t feel pretty? Noteworthy? Like a freakin’ super model?

Right. I know. Some of us have those days more than the other kind … the good kind. The kind of day where you KNOW you are crackalackin’, lip-smackin’, dingo-ate-my-baby delicious.

For me, yesterday was (finally!) one of the latter variety.

I looked GOOD, y’all.

Clearly, the planets aligned, because the hair was just right, the eye makeup went on as it should, the girls were hiked up to their proper position, and no grunting occurred when the jeans were zipped up. Glorious!

Apparently though, all that gorgeousness comes with a time-related price.

I left the house in a rush, heading to lunch with a friend. (Hi, Chris!)

Now let me tell you something about Chris: the man is a punctuality freak stickler.

Seriously. Tardiness does NOT fly with him. His scorn, while moderated by his Scandinavian roots and therefore undetectable to those not familiar with the signs, is palpable if you know what to look for. (As innocuous as it sounds, Scandihoovian scorn is to be avoided, trust you me.)

So I sped. 

As I zipped in and out of interstate traffic, a cute fella in a nice car took advantage of my mad Nascar skillz and tucked himself in behind me. I’m sure he figured I would get ticketed, rather than he, should we be caught.

As I exited, so did he. A stoplight impeded our progress, and I took advantage of the pause in motion to repair a poor lip color choice made before the final wardrobe change of the morning.

As I pulled out my gloss, I noticed cute driver guy watching me with what I took to be a flirty grin on his face.

Well then. Looking for a show? Here ya go, big fella—enjoy!

I proceeded to take my time doing the sensuous gloss application, complete with an arched eyebrow for emphasis. You ladies know what I’m talking about. It’s bullet-proof as long as you’ve got all your teeth and no signs of lettuce or legume skins stuck anywhere.

The light turned green, and I scurried straight on through the intersection as driver guy made a left.

I was smug: I looked good, I’d gotten to lunch on time and I’d come off as desirable in the eyes of a complete stranger whom I would never see again. 

Then I glanced down at my dashboard.

And it hit me: cute driver guy wasn’t grinning at my obvious hotness.

Oh no, he was laughing at me.

'Turns out my left blinker was on the entire drive.