A few weeks ago, my daughter and I met my husband at his office and headed to lunch. We all look forward to the time together and midday break from our regular routines. I wore my usual uniform: a stretched out t-shirt, the same jeans I wear basically every day, (and by “basically” I mean “literally”) and a bandana to hide my grays.
With my little one on my hip, we set put up shop at a table, wiped down the restaurant’s high chair, and taped down a disposable placemat. Per our usual, I let my hubby have some daddy-daughter time while I went up to the counter to order. As I walked up, I noticed a guy sitting in the corner who looked familiar. Oh right…he looked familiar because our tongues had touched. We dated, sorta. I wouldn’t say he was a boyfriend. And he wasn’t just a random hook-up. A guy I hung out with a few times. What are the kids calling that these days? Yeah, I’ll just say we dated.
Anyway, I’m pretty sure we noticed each other but neither one of us said anything. What was I going to say? “Hey, I remember going out with you a few times and then you suddenly decided to stop calling me and started hooking up with a friend of mine?” Yeah, I don’t think so. But it took me out of myself for a moment. A blast from the pre-mommy, pre-marriage, pre-grays past.