It was a dark and ominous Wednesday evening and there was a distinct rumbling… coming from my stomach. I was craving cookies. The problem, I soon realized, was that a perfect cookie is nearly impossible to find. There are three expectations that I have for a cookie. One: the texture of the cookie must be firm on the outside and soft on the inside; I am looking for a satisfying crunch with as few crumbs as possible. Two: the flavour of the cookie must be subtle; I am looking for layers, not to be overwhelmed by something sweet. Three: the substance of the cookie must include quality ingredients; I am looking for a wholesome treat with minimal refinement.
After a bit of searching, I finally found a café that was open late. Sliding into a corner couch, I happened to catch the eye of a passing waiter; he looked directly into my soul and flashed an incredible smile. Holy god damn, I thought. He was gorgeous. I will not go into detail, boring you with a physical description of his chiseled jawline, piercing blue eyes, broad shoulders stretching against his shirt, muscled forearms, his ass in those pants… Just insert your fantasy man into this scenario and you’ll get the picture.
“How are you this evening?” Chimed a pleasant feminine voice. The waitress had to wait a few seconds for me to pull out of my revery and adjust to the dim lighting. Everything is darker after shooting stars.
“Um… I’m good,” I responded with little enthusiasm and a lot of distraction. I slowly pulled my eyes away from the creature who was making my stomach flip.
“Can I get you something?” The waitress asked, looking at the Greek-god-of-a-waiter and back to me.
“A really big cookie,” I replied.
After the waitress left, I decided to use the washroom. Not so much because I had to pee, but because I wanted to walk by the hot waiter. As I walked toward the washroom, I noticed the hot waiter at one of his tables. He was standing, facing away from me, but as I passed him by, I felt some kind of energy tingling down the back of my neck. In the washroom, I stood in front of the urinal and pretended to pee. After what I thought was an acceptable duration of time, I still washed my hands, took a deep breath and re-entered the café.
As I walked back toward my table, I couldn’t help my eyes from flicking violently around the room. They were like hummingbirds on ecstasy. Where is he? Where is he? Where is he?
“Hi.” I jumped, turned around and there was the hot waiter standing right in front of me, smiling that dangerous smile. He shot the hummingbirds right out of my eyes and I stood there, motionless.
“Um… hi.” I finally responded. My lack of eloquence was frightful.
“My name’s Marc,” he pressed on. “Do you come here often?”
“Sometimes. I love cookies. I mean, I really wanted a cookie tonight.” I love cookies? I should not be allowed to speak. Someone cool and collected should revise my dialogue before I open my mouth. Regardless, Marc seemed to be eating up my words.
“So how is your weekend going?” All I could think was is this really happening? After a few more pleasantries, Marc had to get back to work and I returned to my seat, returned to my unimpressed girl-waiter. Why didn’t I sit in his section? His section was probably perfect.
The rest of the evening was spent working up the nerve to ask Marc out for a drink. All the signs pointed to him saying yes, but there is always that nagging hesitation that tries to hold you back. Inaction is protection from rejection. Fuck it, I thought, a yes would be fantastic, a no would be closure. Anything in between is torture.
As I was heading toward the exit, I spotted Marc clearing a table.
“Hey Marc, can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” Marc said smiling. God, that smile.
“Are you gay?” I asked bluntly.
“No, actually,” Marc said sheepishly, “but I do really want to hang out with you sometime. Can I give you my number?” Bamboozled. That is the best word to describe how I felt. Possibly tricked and very perplexed. One very small part of me believed him. The greater part of me decided fantasy is so much more exhilarating than reality and maybe he is merely confused. I boldly requested a yes or no, but I got an in between regardless. Damn him.
This man went out of his way to initiate a conversation with me. I should be thrilled that he doesn’t give a shit about normative behaviour. Could I really be that interesting from a distance without any sexual attraction? Is he in the closet or is he the antithesis of the heterosexual stereotype? I always aim for the destruction of stereotypes, but this time, I didn’t want progress. I wanted him to be the perfect cookie.