A funny feeling in my tummy may have saved me from myself.
Well, perhaps it was more like a rumble in the jungle.
A buddy e-mailed late this week, the kind with whom the topic of conversation extends little past whether the cowgirl is straight or reversed. A “frolic partner” he called it. We hadn’t frolicked in months, and I didn’t shy from but rather wholly embrace his suggestion we get together by the weekend.
Four months is a long time.
Friday, t-minus 12 hours to frolick and a planned day away from work. Slept in but made it just in time for an 8:45 a.m. spinning class. Shower and lingering lunch with the ladies, complete with crunchy Cobb salad and Pinot Noir in a deep bellied glass. Much catching up, much laughing, much that’s good for the soul.
Run through Macy’s for a thigh snuggly pair of black trousers. A Starbucks stop for an iced coffee, unsweetened. Found a strip mall nail salon and sank into a massage chair for a tag team mani-pedi (beautiful job, no bubbles in too quickly stroked on layers, but mirror-shine fingers and toes in shades of pinky-taupe and blood red black).
The gastronomical launch sequence first sounded alarm in the Macy’s dressing room. I blamed the crudité lunch plate and addition of coconut oil to my diet; suffice to say the pipes run clean. Within hours it had built to a gurgling crescendo, fueled by double-brewed coffee and cranberry-peppermint scented warm acrylic nail dust fumes.
Luckily I was well ensconced at home for total intestinal failure. Sometimes you just want the comfort of familiar porcelain to fully express oneself.
I quickly texted my frolick, said I was sorry to disappoint but I couldn’t “do” tonight. His reply, not somewhat unexpected, was short and terse.
Did I mention, hours earlier while heading in for the coffee, I’d run into a boy on the sidewalk, a waiter I’d shamelessly flirted with over breakfast a month or so earlier, who I’d rolled eyes with two weekends ago after yoga? Much too young for me. I seemed to make him nervous; he didn’t seem to know what to do with his free hand. So cute, so funny, so unexpected to have that affect on someone.
“I’ll see you around” I casually threw out before parting. I wondered if he’d kept the phone number I‘d scribbled on that breakfast check. I noticed my smile, a reaction to the reaction he’d had to me. Imagine running into him like that, just around the corner! You never know what's just around the corner.
Flirting feels good. That hair flipping dance. That new excitement. That funny feeling in my tummy.
Did I mention as I lay on the couch just now, downing another long glass of water, I replayed in my head playful banter I’d had online recently with a rediscovered high school chum? How after he had to abruptly go he’d e-mailed a day later, apologizing. He wrote, “I’ll make it up to you.” Sweet, isn’t it? As if he owed me attention.
And as much as I like frolicking, I don't want the buddy to smile shyly at me or share a sweet message. I just texted him goodbye.
It’s time for both butterflies and belly rubs.