I saw the cutie again on the bus this morning.
The one with the curly hair cropped short and the serious, worried face that reminds me of Jonathan Richman.
Sigh. How Jonathan Richman used to make my heart go pitter-pat during my college days when I would rush to see him in live shows and push to the front of the stage the better to see his fancy hip moves and crazy rhymes and forlorn longing.
But this guy? The one I keep feasting my eyes upon around 8:30 a.m. on the bus heading towards town? The one who must be learning at an ulpan because I’ve seen him studying his Hebrew primer with admirable concentration despite the crunch of the morning crowd and the maniac turns inevitably taken by the maniac driver.
If this were Law and Order then I would also be able to tell Lenny Briscoe a few more telling facts, namely that this fellow is certainly Anglo because he reads an English Haaretz when he grows tired of conjugating verbs.
"I read Haaretz, too!" I want to call out as I pull out my own copy from my bag. How does one look sexy while reading about prisoner exchanges? I wonder. And more importantly, how does one strike up a conversation on the crowded bus when one isn’t quite sure that the fellow in question is single. And available. Sure, there’s no ring, which doesn’t mean there isn’t a woman.
I’m sure about something, though. This guy sure ain’t American. Not with the name like he has crocheted on his kippah in Hebrew letters. A name like Maureen. Did I say Maureen? I meant Carol. In other words, he’s got to be either English or Irish.
In still other words, he’s definitely my type.
But how to get his attention? Long, meaningful glances don’t work. I just might have to actually talk to him…