Plane Rides and Pick-up Lines
I just returned from a fun and productive trip to NY, where I was lucky enough to spend some quality time with one of my best, best, best friends ever, Blair (it took three delayed flights, two re-routings, and 12 hours total to get there, but it was a good trip, nonetheless). We were hanging out at this cute little restaurant on Broome St. when a nice, young Italian man walked in, and promptly made his way to our table. After small-talking, and placing a to-go order, he wasted no more time and went straight for the jugular; can I have your number?
We politely declined, but thanked him for his offer. However, that didn’t stop this bold European transplant – he continued on with comments such as, “I love your eyes,” “Do you live around here?” and “May I at least kiss your hand?”
At this point, we were on the verge of cracking up, but admired his relentless determination. But, finally, after one last “no, thank you” chorus from us, he retreated and proceeded to make his way to the exit. However, just as he reached the final step where the door meets the sidewalk, he bit it. Those Italian leather shoes snagged the edge of the concrete exit, and down he went. Arms were flailing, the to-go bag went flying, and the poor boy was just inches from a full-on faceplant. His center of gravity was clearly shaken, but apparently not his pride, as he regained his composure, turned and shouted a final, one-line sonnet:
“See?? I’m falling for you!!!”