Essaying the pros and cons of the single parent relationship as they apply to today's pro media.
So you’re in the corner Starbucks on a Friday afternoon again. I know, Its 4PM, you've been there since Lunch, and your luck is crappier than usual. BUt you've nothing else to do today but scope for the usual up and comings. If you hadn't been there since the day's specials began, Don't even think about leaving without buying a piece of mind, the owner has known your name for the past two months. You look around for solace only to be greeted by the empty sound of a crowded room. And the clerks know what you're thinking. Will it be the Married Pawn Shop Owner or the Firefighter with the 'God' tattoo in all caps. And though hypothetically speaking you would love nothing more, today it doesn’t happen for some reason. After more than an hour of watching couples, married couples, and armed lesbians, you get up to buy your last Frappuccino-and then you see her. He’s only around Five foot seven, but he's got a peculiar obtuseness about the way of his mouth when she says teh word Rinn that makes you think about Croissants. You figure then that 'he must be French or something'. But when the guy sits down in the convenient seat that you’ve been leaving open for an imaginary sister…oh wait, who’s Rinn? "Oh snap", you think. Now suddenly, staring at him as he sat there sitting, stuck rifling through his mesenger bag in the middle of a room full of smokers, a small child wearing a Big Bird Tee Shirt choking an EOR plush waddles around the corner to sticks his hand in with his own.
Now at this point, you haplessly look into the direction of the main window and hope for the hell if you should: A) Stand erect and dial 911 emergency. B) Buy a 2 Ct. pack of condoms you will never use. C) Hope the next 52 ft. Semi that passes by will hit you with the luck of the Irish. D) All of the above. But...at least you’re honest. But look on the Bright side though. As you continue to sit there in virtual damnation, selfish and bothered, you remember somewhere in time Heidi Klum had become pregnant. You then realize what she looked like in a bathing suit in last week’s People Magazine spread…and then maybe you decide to look at that ring finger. Success. So now you’ve got to make a decision to: strike up a pitiful conversation with the voice of a stammering prank victim, or go home to your brother’s GQ Subscription. You decide to stay there anyway. Approximately 20-29 minutes later, you realize this is pretty alright. His daughter like marshmallows, he does poetry readings in his spare time, and he makes a mean Lemon Square. Mind you he’s a bit too goody two shoes for your tastes…but it does feel good to learn. At least for another half an hour or so(See Breaking Bad). Nine minutes later you get up together and walk out with Geoff and his two year old daughter feeling positive and refreshed. At this moment you’re parked right across from one another, so you walk the busy Dad to his…Obsidian Hummer. You like it. In fact you like it so much that you offer to exchange numbers and eventually say your goodbyes. You sit in your driver’s seat and check your Phone for the frown that time forgot…again. You turn on the ignition and hear the Christina Perri song…you know, the Twilight one. And that’s your jam. You then check the rear view and right before you put the Golf in gear, you see Geoff speeding away and burning rubber…which could trouble you somehow. With a hardended grind over your mouth you wave as politely as you know you know you think you should at this moment…until you actually read his license plate. You remember, the one on the Hummer. he drives with the words “OUIBCLUBN” stamped in Pink on his rear license plate. And then it all stops…forever. Even though God’s the one who did this to you, right now you are somehow more upset that you missed the 27+ minutes of Breaking Bad rerun you’ve seen at least nine times so far (you think). And theres nothing wrong with a little faith from time to time….you know? Oh well, at least theres the night before Christmas. Robin Kale