How does it work, this dating thing? Not the actual dates, I believe I make a great date, well a good enough date anyway. My question is the
before, the get-me-a-date part? When I said I was coming to Canada, people told me how easy it would be to meet men here.
A little background: largely in Ireland, among my social circle anyway, most romances begin with a few or more drinks in a pub, club or party. I was told that in Canada, it can happen anywhere, and to be prepared to be approached in coffee shops. They specifically said coffee shops. This is a massive country and I have covered quite a large area already. I am in a coffee shop daily. I have not yet been approached. Anywhere. This is not good for one’s self-esteem.
Today, I find myself sitting across from an attractive man in my favourite coffee shop. Let me describe him; not for your information as
much as for my enjoyment. What stand out first are his eyes. He has happy eyes. Some people think that you get happy eyes when you are happy. I disagree. Happy eyes are those that are happy when you are in an average mood. They are the default, and one can tell when this is the usual position rather than because somebody told a good joke, or you got a pay-rise or ate chocolate cake. We make eye contact, but I think it because we are in each other’s line of vision, and well, because I am looking at him a lot.
He wears a baby blue zip up hoodie, and it suits him, with a navy polo shirt and white t-shirt. I like white t-shirts under tops, I always have, though I am not sure why. He is tall, slender. His hair is fair, neither blond nor brown and it is short, shorter on the sides, and it looks gelled, the hard kind. He is in dark blue jeans and hiking boots. He is
talking to a guy in biker gear, and I wonder are they travelling together. They do not match. He is talking with food in his mouth: strangely cute. He appears strong. They seem to be having a serious conversation, for, although he looks relaxed, he looks like he is emphasising his opinion or knowledge. So he has opinions. I like that. At this point, I realise I think too much.
If I was in my film, I would probably walk over and talk to him. I would say something snappy and witty, give him my number and walk away
with minimum input from him. In someone else’s film, perhaps he comes and sits down by me, asking what I am writing. I will not scare him by saying I am writing about him. He asks for my number. In the film, he does not glance at the lady with the good chest and thin waist who walks between us.
back in the real world, he gets up. I am suddenly petrified. What would I do if he stopped to talk to me? What would I say if he asked for my number? My heart starts pounding. Oh no, please do not come over. He walks by me to the washroom. I breathe a sigh of relief. I go get more coffee and when I turn around he and his friend are leaving, without a backward glance- I kept watch just in case, disappointed
I wonder will I ever see him again, or was he, like most other people who come here, just passing through. I guess I need more practice at the flirting in coffee shops.
Waking Up In Canada 