Breezy Elegance

Hardware Geek doesn't have a phone. (I know. But he is very good about emailing constantly.) So when my plans change on the spur of the moment, which happens quite often, it wreaks havoc on the date, because it can't be changed and I can't call him. So, if a girl like me, with a very flexible sense of time, and a girl like LongtimeFriend, also with a flexible sense of time--did I mention I acted like LongtimeFriend's lesbian lover this weekend to make a guy jealous? and that it worked?--anyway, if we maybe go to Tacoma's Greek Festival with my parents, and then maybe we drink some wine, and eat lots of fried feta cheese wrapped in puff pastry, and then when we're leaving I'm trying to coordinate with an Ex whose bag I have in my car after a racuous house party, and I ask him, in making plans, "Well, what time is it now?" And he says, "9:07."

As in, seven minutes AFTER I was supposed to meet Hardware Geek. And I still have to drive LongtimeFriend home. I panic. Then I come up with a bright idea: Hey, I'm supposed to meet him at a coffeehouse, and that's on the way to LF's house, so I'll just swing by there, tell him I'll be late, drive LF home, and come right back! LF agrees that this would be a good idea. We drive to the coffeehouse. I turn off the car, leap out (in spike-heeled boots), run like crazy across the street, and into the coffeehouse. Or at least, that's the plan.

About the time a chain hits my leg is when my slow brain registers the fact that there is a BEER GARDEN OUTLINED BY A KNEE-HIGH CHAIN AND ANCHORED BY MASSIVE FLOWERPOTS between me and the door. By then, of course, it's too late. I go down. The chain comes crashing down on top of me. Along with the chain go several cafe tables, folding chairs, and patrons.

And, of course, the flowerpots.

After all the crashing stops, I venture to stand up. LF is in the car, practically dying because she's laughing so hard, and everyone standing outside smoking is staring at me, mouths agape. Another patron is on the ground. Tables and chairs askew. Gigantic flowerpots are sideways, dirt and cigarette butts pouring out of them. It looks like a meteor hit. I dust myself off (not even a hole in my jeans, by the way), refuse all offers of help, leave the coffeeboy to clean up the mess, and run inside, although by the time Hardware Geek has, of course, seen me. I was hard to ignore. He raises his eyebrows. "That was quite an entrance! Are you okay?" I show him that I am fine, and he agrees to wait a little longer as I drive my friend home.

After that, I figure I could spit on him and get away with it.