A Sentimental Moment Leads to A Stupid Conclusion

I am sitting in a cafe. You walk in. “Hello, you must be Natasha.” I am not. You have a fit body suggestive of physical activity. Swimming? Rugby? Tae Boe? Whatever it is, it’s working. You are excited to be meeting “Natasha” so I accept this transference, her loss is my game.

 “I am whoever you want me to be.” You sit down. I stare into your eyes, your beautiful round biceps. The red polo you are wearing insinuates casual yet confident.  We make small talk; weather, movies, Conan O’Brien. The conversation is slow, non sequitur, but incredibly accepting.  

Suddenly words like chemistry and intimacy characterize a chance encounter with the opposite sex, whereas words like sloppy and drunken are nowhere to be found.  If the movie Serendipity warranted a plot this would be it. The room disappears, time stops and nothing exists but us, here, in this moment,

 “Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii.” The real Natasha. “Oh, you must have thought this was me. I guess the only description was brown hair. I’m Natasha. Sorry I’m late. Hahaha. Let’s grab a seat. “

The two of you sit elsewhere and begin flirting, leaving me to resume my Stephen Glansberg status. Her laugh is forced, her tone high pitched and she is plain and boring looking. Describing her as bland would be an overstatement, burlap has more sex appeal.  Objectively, I am better. But you came here for her, and not me, and now she is sitting with a boy who is captivating, engaging, good looking and far too compelling to be sitting with her.  That sounds bias and shallow, so I’m switching gears to sounding stupid, but nonetheless sincere to what I believe:

The conclusion is this:  Men are dating down.  Something prompted an epidemic of lowered standards. Good looking males are hard core settling, leaving average and good looking women befuddled, obese chicks rejoicing. Quality boys are going for sub par girls, even in moments of sobriety.  

Damn you Natasha, damn you for getting the one that got away. But part of me is proud you are sitting with a boy so out of your league, prompting the rest of us to go get ours.