"You're not the one that has to smell like it all day. Ugh, I look like a slob."
"You can barely tell! Just relax."
"Tell me to relax one more time."
"Hey, I'm not the one with coffee on my pants."
"I am going to work. Good-bye."
What happened to the woman I met in a Spanish coffee shop? Sometimes I can't help but revisit those days. It took some weeks of persuasion and charm but finally she gave it a shot and god, was it fun. Where's the woman that jumped on the back of my Vespa and dared me to jump into the Magic Fountain of Montjuic? The mysterious woman with her long black pony tail and fire red lipstick begging me to show her the world? She talked about the Queen of England and afternoon tea yet all of her ideas crossed a plane of similarity, similar to the discussions of Rhizomes by Deleuze and Guattari. Was this just natural progression? A sense of comfort? Or was this an ebb and flow with a predominant flow?
The white Camry that moments ago pulled out of the parking lot with an aggressive vigor crept back onto the Versailles property. With the car placed in park and still running that long black pony tail popped out and ran into my arms.
"I'm sorry. I just don't like being late...or covered in coffee."
"I know my love."
And with a kiss on that beautiful head of hers and the smell of coffee wafting through my nose I remembered: this is the woman I love.
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