My intentions were honourable, but cranberry vodka courage is cheap and tawdry.
"Well, you're exactly the kind of man I've been looking for."
"Engaged then? You live with someone?"
"No, I'm single."
"How did that happen?"
"I'm really single," he said.
"So, Irish?" I asked red-haired Creative Hipster Type Number 1.
"Scottish," he replied.
"I can look past Etobicoke,” I told him. “I have a soft spot for working-class suburbs. Catholic?"
"I can work with that and have a church wedding," I said, "but we have to have pre-marital sex because, with you, I’m not sure I can hold out until the 3rd date. Unless we count tonight as our first date? Could we?"
Creative Hipster Type 1 and I decided to go play pool at Upscale Billiards, but after leaving the dimmed lights of the club behind, I suddenly felt ridiculous about my inappropriate clothes, the sleepless circles under my eyes, the not-yet-in-style librarian glasses and my cranberry vodka courage. I put my embarrassment aside for another moment, stood on my toes, noted that Creative Hipster Type Number 1 was the perfect height for me, and brushed my lips against his.
"Hey! Marina?" were the last words I heard him say.
I’d started the long walk home through snowy streets, cold and lonely.
That Thursday, there was an “I Saw You” ad in the free weekly newspaper. It was a few days before Christmas and I had hopes, like all people who are alone in big cities, that someone might have seen me at some random place,among all those strangers, and decided I was the one.