The Idea-smithy

Pretty woman…walking down the street

But I’m not Julia Roberts and you are no Richard Gere and I don’t think I hear Roy Orbison singing anywhere else but in my head.

I’m thinking of a movie we once saw together. I was huddled close to you, not from chill or because it was crowded. It wasn’t. There were just thirteen other people in the theater. All male, a bunch of teenagers. And i edged in closer to you, against an overwhelming sea of testosterone, clinging to my island of familiar maleness - you. You, engrossed in the dazzle and fire on screen murmured,

Oh, what will it take for her to kiss me?

And pat I retorted, part amusement/relief at the semi-restored normalcy, part feminine fear/insecurity

She’s getting paid to kiss him.

And even if no one here is a filmstar or a storybook character,
we may smile for others
and swoon over beauty
and sleep for money

….but some girl may do it just because she likes you.
I would. I did. I still do.

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