Pop! Goes My Jaded Heart

Outside, the hard rains began to slither into the night like wet black silk. Inside, the euphoric smell of caffeine caresses my nostrils. The moisture in the air dances to the piped-in bossa music. I was stressing over my white shoes (or sandals, as they would like to advertise it) which has been licked by the raindrops that assaulted us on our way in.

Nicholas Sparks crept into our conversation. I braced myself for the sugar rush.

She said: Do you know that a shadow passes over your eyes when conversation turns a little too mushy?
I said: My eyes are like Shakira’s hips. They don’t lie.
She said: I wonder who has broken you and left you this cynical.
I said: If you see something in my eyes, let’s not overanalyze.
She said: So what kind of girls do you like?
I said: I like girls that wear Abercrombie and Fitch.
She said: That’s so LFO.
I said: We’re so not M.F.E.O.
She said: I hope you will stop quoting pop songs.
I said: I will... if you will stop hitting me baby one more time.
She took her shopping bags and left.

Twenty seconds later I realized she didn’t comprehend my humor and sarcasm.

I ran after her and did a Nirvana and some Bryan Adams.