Today I watched “Revolutionary Road” and concocted a list of filthy things I want to do to Kate Winslet, the least vulgar being bake cookies with her whilst she wears only an apron. I’ve always thought she was a beautiful woman stuck in a marriage to a scumbag director, but what do I know. She should just be mine. That is all.

Anyways, while waiting for the movie to begin, I sat in the very top row, right in the center, so I could have the best seat in the house. A woman, maybe 24, 25 years old had the same idea, walked to my row and insisted on crawling over my leg to sit in the seat directly on the other side of me. She leaned over and said, “You know, you took my seat.”

“Ah, well, there wasn’t anyone in this row when I sat down. I wasn’t aware this was your spot.”

“It wasn’t. Not until I got here and saw you, anyway.”

I must warn you – I used to be incredibly flirtatious. I suppose I still am, but I’ve been less upfront about it in recent months and also less aware when others do it to me. It took me a full minute to realize that she wasn’t being a bitch; she was actually flirting with me. Like a dummy, I reacted upon my realization (60 seconds later) and said, “Oh yeah?”

“Huh?”

“Oh… I was just saying… Eh, never mind.”

I completely made an ass of myself. I kept to myself the entire movie, mostly because I hate talkers in theaters, and no one wants to be randomly interrupted by a stranger ever. When it was over, I glanced over to my right, I noticed she was still sitting down, not quickly leaving like anyone else.

“Wow. What a powerful movie, huh?” I started.

“It ended a lot sooner than I thought! That Leo. He’s all kinds of yummy.”

“Pft. I think you mean Kate.”

She laughed, I laughed, we hung around some more, then we walked out of the theater simultaneously, not together; we just happened to be walking out at the same time. She was enticing – long legs, long hair, bright eyes. I think I started subsconsciously following her to her car like a crazy stalker before she asked what I was doing.

“Oh, stretching my legs. Are you in a rush to get home or do you want to get coffee?”

Coffee. It’s always coffee with me. I don’t ask girls to dinner, I don’t ask girls to go walking. I certainly don’t ask girls to hang out at my place, or vice versa. Like diarrhea of the mouth, coffee is always the first thing I ask, and girls almost always say sure. This was no exception. I had her where I wanted her.

We spent an hour talking about school (turns out we both go to Columbia), music, traveling. Conversation flowed much easier than any date I’ve had within the past 6 months. I knew I wanted to see her again.

Then she said, “Wow, so it’s getting late. My boyfriend is going to give me the third degree now.”

Floored. That was me. Completely floored. And she was serious.

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