The Cab Driver
It was around noon, I'd woken up at 10AM, and despite the two hours that had passed, I was still in my friend's pajama pants. There was no way I was going to put on my black pencil skirt and suede booties on Saturday morning and cab it back to my place. No, I decided to take the classier route and just not get ready at all. So I excited the building, new table I'd found in the garbage in hand and I hailed a cab. The mustard Ford pulled up in front on me, I tossed my furniture inside along with my disheveled, pajamaed form.
"Somewhere on Bleecker St." I said, and I looked out the window to see more awake people walking hand in hand on the beautiful October day.
My Cabbie was on the phone, speaking some language I couldn't understand. He got off the phone.
"How is your day?" He asked.
"So far, so good."
"Do you have a husband, boyfriend?
Oh, god- I thought.
"Boyfriend." I lied.
"Lucky guy. Where are you from?"
"I'm from where you're taking me."
"New York City is a crazy place."
"Yeah, but I call it home. How about you?"
"India." He said.
"Have you ever had a fuck buddy? You should take my number."
Jesus Christ, are we there yet?-
"No, I don't think my boyfriend would really like that."
Should I bother to walk it?'-
"How long have you been together?"
"Uh-" Searching.
"About 6 months."
"Oh, not so long. You should take my number in case you guys break up."
"No man, I think I'm good." We were circling the park, so close.
"You know I see it everyday, married couples, they have mistresses. They get bored. You don't think you'll get bored with the same person" Now he wanted to get into a relationship conversation.
"Well I don't think it's a problem with boredom, I think it's a matter of finding the right person."
"I always get bored." He said without even thinking about my response.
"So what, there's no nice Indian girls you want?" I asked.
"No," he grinned, "just a fuck buddy."
We were pulling up to my block.
"Right up here, on the right." I pulled out my credit card. I swiped. I tipped. And with my hand on the door handle,
"Well, I hope you find a nice girl so you don't think we're all boring."
I opened the car door, lugged my table out and as I turned he chuckled and said,
"I'm never going to change."
The table was unstable.
The Hit On & Run
So this morning I woke up a bit early to go jogging by the Hudson River. Something I like to do when it's a nice, sunny morning, like it was today. The only problem was, I felt like shit. The week had worn on me and the last thing I wanted to do on a Friday morning was to go run for an hour.
But I did it anyway.
I dragged my sorry ass out of bed and threw on my all back outfit (I looked like I was attending a professional jogger's funeral) and I hit the pavement. The hour went by, and just three blocks away from my apartment, the sweet release of my shower and giant bottle of water I was stopped at a light.
"Excuse me miss,"
I turn to see a man had approached me and was looking me up and down. Mind you I have no make up on, extra baggy eyes, am pretty sweaty from my workout and having forgotten to put on deodorant, probably smelly. The one thing I did have working for me were my thin-fit technology sewn yoga pants that made my legs and ass look much more toned than they actually are.
"Yeah," I panted.
"How many miles would you say you run?"
"About four," I looked around, the light was about to change.
"Wow, that's about, that's like, a-" He was trying to do the math.
"That's about 80 blocks, that's good. So, um-"
The light changed.
"Gotta run!" I ran across the street and could make out his parting words.
"Keep up the good work!"
Best. Exit. Strategy. Ever. 