After a rather lethargic late lunch at Panera and a coffee-stop at Unicorn, I decided that there comes a time when one must face the facts and go home and take a nap. However, my plans would soon be thwarted by one 30-something flamboyantly gay man and one 20-something ethnically and handsomely ambiguous gentleman.
Walking along Sherman, the two men stopped me in the street, the flamboyantly gay man, who we'll call Charlie, demanding a "woman's opinion" on his ethnically-ambiguous friend's (Rufio's) hair. "How high is too high?...I'm talking height here. Not volume. REAL height!"
Slightly concerned that I was being hit on in some strange-conspicuous manner and eager to leave as quickly as possible, I quickly offered my advice that as long as the hair fits the personality, all is well.
"Okay, great! Thanks!" Charlie chortled. He reached out, grabbed my hand, and suddenly, I find myself being spun and danced around like an awkwardly-positioned mannequin holding an iced latte, purse, and textbooks. I laughed uncomfortably as the people eating outside Camilles sat by and watched.
"There, I just did that to see your smile, because I JUST KNEW it was beautiful!!" Charlie beamed at me. At this point, I was really ready to go and my latte was beginning to brim over and spill onto my hand.
"Thanks for being such a sport," he smiled, reaching out his hand once more. When I shook it, I didn't realize I would be forfeiting my own hand for another five minutes.
"Look at her handshake!!" Charlie grabbed Rufio's shoulder. "Isn't it INTERESTING??" During the next five minutes, my hand was passed between Charlie and Rufio, as they told me all about...me. A little sidewalk-offered palm reading.
"He knows ALL about this stuff," Charlie oozed, hiking his thumb at Rufio.
"I spent two years living in the mountains," Rufio offered.
Oh, that explains it, I thought.
"You know, monks and Nepal and all that junk," Charlie teased Rufio, handing my palm over to him.
Rufio squinted as my reddened palm, "Oh...Your heartline is short." Rufio's laments seeped through his eyes as he stared apologetically at me. "Your lovelife is unstable, is it not?"
Whose isn't? I thought. But, being the kind Ohio girl I am, I uttered instead, "I guess so."
"Yeah I can see that here," Rufio bit his lip. A moment's contemplation and, "Oh! Her lifeline is split in half." He turned to Charlie, concerned. Obviously this split-lifeline would prove some sort of problem for me. The people at Camille's sat on the edges of their seats, waiting to hear exactly what sort of problem it was.
"You live two lives," Rufio sternly and solemnly judged. The sentence was passed. I imagined myself donning a black leather suit, climbing the walls of Kresge, crawling the perimeter of Tech, and tormenting drunk Northwestern students at the rock during all hours of the night, screaming animalistic shrieks of terror.
"Yeah, I guess I do," I agreed with Rufio.
Abruptly, Charlie seized my hand, bent my fingers back and pronounced me to be as stubborn as they come and that was that. I didn't get a chance to voice my opinion on that judgement.
With that, Charlie asked me judge Rufio's mountainbred accuracy on the scale from Bruce Willis to Mohawk, short to tall hair, one to ten. I gave them a hearty "six or seven," wistfully recalling my nights in the bushes around Tech, black leather sticking to my sweaty legs.
And with Charlie's last confiscation of my hand, "a twirl to the left and-uh twirl to the right," I was on my way, having entertained not only the people lunching at Camille's, but passerbys as well, including my subtly-handsome-quiet-boy Geo Sci TA. I waved goodbye to Charlie and Rufio for maybe not the last time. Who knows, maybe it lies in my future to cross paths with them once more?
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Scott is amazing. 
This is what I love about kids. 
