Every day for the past three days, someone I've talked with has made a point of telling me how pretty I am -- which isn't true, but it certainly does make a girl feel good to hear it. By the third comment, I was actually beginning to glow a little bit.
So I was in a good mood when I headed out to finally mail my Secret Santa package. I always glance behind when I go through a door to see if there's anyone I should hold it open for -- and this morning when I entered the post office, there was.
He was tall and slim and handsome in a hawkish, angular way. Grey eyes, easy smile, dark hair lightly shot with silver. Arms loaded with seven big brown packages in very precarious balance.
I held the door, then hurried ahead to hold the next door too, and he thanked me kindly. As we took our places in the line, I nodded at his many packages and said, "You must be a good person to be related to," and he laughed. Waiting in line, we had plenty of time to talk, and the conversation was very comfortable. I immediately liked him.
And then a thought flickered in the back of my mind. Could it be that the three days of compliments had been Fate's way of preparing me, of helping me become more at ease with the idea that I might be attractive to someone after all?
Could it be... this very charming fellow... maybe, possibly...
I was warming to the idea, just beginning to believe that something meaningful might be happening here, when this delightful gentleman mentioned, "I went overboard on presents because I'm not going to get back home for a visit until after I'm ordained in June."
"Ordained?" I inquired with lifted brow.
He nodded. "I'm in training to be a priest."
And so ended my brief, but ever so lovely little fantasy.
Ah, but it gets worse: Later, when I told the story to my family, both my father and my brother immediately said, "Oh, he was probably just saying that to get rid of you."
So I was in a good mood when I headed out to finally mail my Secret Santa package. I always glance behind when I go through a door to see if there's anyone I should hold it open for -- and this morning when I entered the post office, there was.
He was tall and slim and handsome in a hawkish, angular way. Grey eyes, easy smile, dark hair lightly shot with silver. Arms loaded with seven big brown packages in very precarious balance.
I held the door, then hurried ahead to hold the next door too, and he thanked me kindly. As we took our places in the line, I nodded at his many packages and said, "You must be a good person to be related to," and he laughed. Waiting in line, we had plenty of time to talk, and the conversation was very comfortable. I immediately liked him.
And then a thought flickered in the back of my mind. Could it be that the three days of compliments had been Fate's way of preparing me, of helping me become more at ease with the idea that I might be attractive to someone after all?
Could it be... this very charming fellow... maybe, possibly...
I was warming to the idea, just beginning to believe that something meaningful might be happening here, when this delightful gentleman mentioned, "I went overboard on presents because I'm not going to get back home for a visit until after I'm ordained in June."
"Ordained?" I inquired with lifted brow.
He nodded. "I'm in training to be a priest."
And so ended my brief, but ever so lovely little fantasy.
Ah, but it gets worse: Later, when I told the story to my family, both my father and my brother immediately said, "Oh, he was probably just saying that to get rid of you."
If that's their idea of fun, it's not funny.
