Finally got back yesterday after wrapping up a 16 day road trip! (I’ll start recapping with photos and posts as the week goes on.) I had a pretty awesome time, but towards the end I was ready to go home. As much as I truly love the road (and Colorado) it still remains a place I can only visit, not a place I can truly call home (yet).
So I arrive at Denver airport, check in my bags, and eventually make my way to my window seat. While I was moving through the plane I was thinking, “I’ve been on dozens of flights now and I never, EVER wind up sitting next to a hot girl. EVER.” I see some ugly dude standing over the aisle seat in my row and I’m like, “Yep, here we go, same old crap.”
But… he was standing there to let people pass and winds up moving to the row in front of me. Whew. I get into my seat and patiently await to see what Michael Moorish 500 pound creature out of Lovecraft’s books would end up sitting next to me.
It never materialized. Instead, this GORGEOUS looking girl takes the aisle seat next to me, and it turns out no one had booked the middle seat between us, so we had the entire row to ourselves. And I’m like… “Did that really just happen?”
After griping not 5 minutes earlier about never having the random good fortune of sitting next to a beautiful woman on the plane, lo and behold here she was, with the extra bonus of having a seat between us free for added comfort and minimal distractions. It was like God had heard my complaints and presented a GOLDEN opportunity for me, all wrapped up in a nice red bow, and was now challenging me, “Here’s what you wanted Frank, now what are you going to do about it?”
So what did I do? Nothing.
It was the curse of the introvert. Instead of seizing the moment, I was calculating probabilities in my head, exploring every conceivable outcome that could arise from my talking to her. Was she married, was she single, is she friendly, or would she rudely cut me off, would I even be able to hear her over the roaring of the jet engines, or would I completely embarrass myself, was she from Colorado or New York, and if Colorado how could that work, and if New York would she have that typical New York attitude, was her boyfriend/husband actually on the plane too and just in another seat, and would he curbstomp me for daring to speak to her after we de-boarded?
The more I thought and envisioned all the possible scenarios, the worse the knot in my stomach started to get. Meanwhile I had to exercise serious restraint from openly admiring her exotically feminine figure, stealing a glance every now and then, but otherwise being a gentleman (I hope). Of course it didn’t help that she would occasionally stretch her arms out, accentuating every gorgeous curve of her body as she did so.
Sweet mother of merciful goodness… (I reach out and twist the A/C to full blast…)
I was still cognizant of all the ridicule I had received in a previous post about befriending women in public, the consensus by feminist trolls being that I was teh creepy creeps giving off teh creepeh vibes, and that under no circumstances should I ever smile, approach or talk to women in public, lest it be considered a form of stalking and verbal rape. The Feminist Imperative has spoken. So let it be written…
And the truth was, I honestly didn’t want to bother a girl if she didn’t want to be bothered. But it was always hard to tell what their state of mind was. The safe route of course is to simply not talk to anyone, EVER, and being an introvert that would have suited me just fine (while making all the feminists happy by acknowledging my place at the bottom of the totem pole and not polluting the air they breathe with proof of my existence).
But then I knew, if I didn’t say something, ANYTHING, I was going to regret this lost opportunity, just as I’ve come to regret all the other lost opportunities over the years. Whereas before the old Frank would have shrunk further into his seat and buried himself in his book or iPad, the new Frank decided, “You know what, I am getting TOO OLD for this S@#$. CARPE DIEM.”
I gently tap her shoulder. “I was just wondering, are you from Colorado or New York?”
Her soft, expressive face brightened at my opening question, and off we went, chatting about this and that. I tried to absorb the tremendous relief that arose from her willingness to talk to me, but my stomach continued to be in vice-like twist, pain receptors going off almost everywhere I had sensation. It was literally like trying to move a muscle that I hadn’t moved in years. I soldiered on though. No more regrets.
As our plane made its descent I asked her out for coffee since she lived in Brooklyn, to which she said yes (?!?!?) and afterward we traded contact info and emails.
Not so much that she said yes, but in forcing myself to turn over a new leaf, to resist the old patterns of withdrawing and letting opportunities like these slide past me. In a way I think it’s part of getting older. You realize time is not in fact on your side, and life will only offer you X amount of chances to meet, befriend and perhaps find the person you’re meant to be with. I decided I would rather go through life knowing even though I may have failed, at least I gave it my all, than to say I failed because I never tried at all.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I must commence the fine art of strutting.