We were at a concert last night, all of us. STAMPS, a band that I had never heard of, just finished playing, and the lead singer was walking past. We made eye contact, he lifted his hand, I lifted mine, and the rest is history – the perfect high five. No words were exchanged, no explanations given, only the unspoken expectations of what a high five should be.
Tommy & The High Pilots had finished playing, and talk about déjà vu, the lead singer was walking by. He gave a high five to Concert buddy #One. “Me too?” Concert buddy #Two added. Being terrified to asked for one, I did not say anything. He looked my direction. I froze. He went in for a hug, accidentally punching concert buddy #One in the face. After the embrace, I blurted out, “Can we get a picture with you?!”
Needless to say, I am now in love with the lead singers of STAMPS and Tommy & The High Pilots.
All last night’s talk of high fives made me think about a date I went on years ago. We had a game night with a few individuals, and then, since it was early February, we went to the store to pick up some cheesy Valentine’s Day cards. It was a fun date. Well, I thought it was fun. We talked, we laughed, we drank Jamba, we acted like children. Skip to the doorstep scene: We talked about how fun the night was, and then, naturally, we gave each other a high five. A HIGH FIVE.
Reader, I know what you are thinking, “Wow! If that was a good date, I would hate/love to know what happens on a bad one.” I can sum a bad date up in two words: NEAR TEARS (and not me, the young man).
Anyways, a few years after that date, I was driving with this young man, listing to Spice Girls, when he told me that I broke his heart all those years ago. Burn. Dagger to one of my many blindspots.
“What are blindspots?” You are asking yourself? I’ll let concert buddy #One clue you in.
P.S. Facebook relationship equals terminated. Is it bad that I am rejoicing?
P.S.S. Concert buddy #One, the one that got punched, is never washing her face again. She is a groupie.
P.S. Facebook relationship equals terminated. Is it bad that I am rejoicing?
P.S.S. Concert buddy #One, the one that got punched, is never washing her face again. She is a groupie.
