I was already praying to the restaurant god that the clang of dishes and buzz of the dinner crowd would drown out the mindless chatter of my date. With a yawn of boredom, I twiddled my fork on the plate, rolling my eyes with every mention of the Laker game. The gray of his shirt grated my nerves with the way it twitched at the collar when he chewed. I thought to myself, "How can you blame the shirt for annoying you when it is definitely this guy's lack of interesting conversation that has you ready to escape through the kitchen?" I was giggling, which I am sure he thought was in response to his lame attempt at entertaining me, when I felt this burning in my peripheral vision.
My eyes wondered from his button-down to the curve of his fingers as he held his fork like a shovel. Still I couldn't help the feeling that someone was staring at me. Now talking about the new Droid applications he downloaded, I searched the crowd for my culprit. I found only the uninterested profiles of the restaurant patrons, clearly ignoring my dating fiasco. Then, suddenly, it appeared! This scary, hairy, barking dog of a toe from under the table! I moved my black heels slowly underneath my chair to avoid collision. Carefully lifting the tablecloth, I unveiled the horror. FLIP FLOPS!!!
Fighting the urge to run while screaming, I felt the look of disgust consume my facial features. Those bony toes were staring right up at me, yet my date continued to yap about how his car had GPS. I snarfed down the rest of my pasta, texted myself to have an excuse to leave, and apologized for the rush. The swarm of fresh air washed over me with a sigh of relief as my hand pushed the door open into the dim light of the parking lot. With an anxious look over my shoulder, the toes were gone.
Rule: Men don't wear flip flops in public. Period. Your toes are staring at me! It's gross...
My Leo...Book Release
5 years ago