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“Next Stop, Love,” Says the Cabbie

“Next Stop, Love,” Says the Cabbie

"You know what I’m thinking right now?" the cabbie asked me.

"You’re thinking: What I wouldn’t do for a cigarette!" I guessed.

He turned to the backseat to have himself a looksy-look at me.

"You read my mind!" he said. He wanted a cigarette. And also a black coffee. None of that hafuch nonsense. No che-che cappuccinos for him. No sirreee! Just a cigarette and a black coffee, straight up.

Sounded reasonable. A man could ask for much worse.

We got to talking, the cabbie and I. And I couldn’t help but notice that he wasn’t bad looking. Rather cute, actually. Slender with a nice, long face and a pair of cutey-pantz glasses. Just my type!

So when he pulled up on the curb across from my house and accepted his fare, he turned to me once more and this time invited me to join him for that cup of coffee and a cigarette. I hesitated.

On the one hand, it was almost 2 am, which is way past my bedtime. Also, I don’t smoke. Oh, and also: He was a complete stranger to me.

On the other hand, I was inching my way towards spinsterhood, which is another way of saying, any day now I would die alone.

So who was I to be so picky?

And yet, I declined. Mostly because I was tired. And also because he was a cab driver. And a stranger. And because I’m picky. Picky, picky, Pickus, c’est moi!

The next day, I called up my girlfriend to see if perhaps I had turned down a good man.

"It’s like, all I do is complain that I’m alone and here a lovely man asks me out but because he’s a cab driver and I don’t know him I get all on my high horse…."

"Um, ex-squeeze me, Abby?" she said. "I am not trying to make you feel bad or anything but he just wanted to have sex with you."

Really? And here I thought he wanted a coffee. And a cigarette.

"So why not ask you on a proper date, then? And get your phone number, too? Why invite you for a ‘coffee’ in the middle of the night?"

She had a point. Then again, he was Israeli and you know how Israelis are, all spontaneous and everything. He was probably going to take me for a coffee and then later ask for my number to ask me out on a super fantastic date!

"Was he going to take you to a dark alley for that coffee?" another girlfriend asked. "And once there, let you know that it is his custom to remove your pants during the coffee hour? Oh, and also that he’d invited along a few buddies to join in on the fun?"

Which would all be very confusing to me because in America, where I come from, we tend to drink coffee with our pants on.

Which is all another way of saying: Who’s crazier? Me or my girlfriends?

"Good news!" said the girlfriend whose little scenario had me pants-less in a dark and scary alley.

"I finally reached so-and-so who is going to set you up with that nice, single guy she met at the party a while back!"

"I mean, I called her up and was like, ‘Quick! My friend, Abby, is going to be attacked in a dark alley unless you get this guy you know who you say is such a mensch to call her up!’"

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