I enter the elevator anticipating the usual non-eventful, perhaps brief and polite conversation, ride down the five floors to my garage. The big silver doors begin to open as I am standing in the
elevator waiting area slouching and picking at the remaining dog hairs on my sweatshirt when whoa nelly I see a tall, handsome, not before seen since I moved here three years ago, stud of a man. My immediate thought was, "No way, not fair, you can't ride the elevator with me when I am not prettied up prepared."
I immediately search my brain bank for something witty to say but I am dry as a bone. I finally take notice of his helmet blatantly held in his hand and ask moronically, "So are you going riding?" He apathetically smiles and responds yes. I then tell him I have a Hog myself in the garage, noticing he is getting off at the same level as me (I also catch a sneak peek at the ring finger - EMPTY!).
He seems truly interested at this point and as we exit the elevator I ask him if he would like to see it, he is very motivated at this point, large hunky smile the biggest indicator, and enthusiastically answers to the affirmative. I drag him the 50 feet to where my 200 cc Scooter is parked. He is visibly disappointed. In an attempt to save the moment I mention it is freeway legal. He laughs somewhat genuinely and tells me to have a good day.
Good day indeed sir. I am now fantasizing about our first date. As I recount the story to my friend over coffee I am now planning our first double date with her and her husband. By the time I return back to the pad I announce to the security guards that I have met my future husband.
I was quickly informed that he is a good guy, owns the penthouse and most importantly is single. Good golly Molly, this is my lucky day. Then in the usual fatherly manner my security guards treat me with, they proceed to inform me he has a drinking problem and a very bad temper. A few stories are revealed, including how he slashed all the tires of a person who parked in his spot. They sum it up with they don't think I should marry him.
Bubble burst. What was I thinking? I do have a wonderful boyfriend after all. I just can't help myself when I see God's artwork prancing around in front of me, tempting my brain like I was a hand puppet. I have since seen problem stud and he always says, "Hi Scooter girl." I half smile back and kind of laugh as I envision the devil horns on his head and think, "he is not really that hot" even though he is.
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