The Christmas List


I looked at the email from my sister. “Hey Darbs! We’re about to go out shopping for Christmas, is there something specific that you want?”

I started typing but was interrupted by the door ring. I always wanted to know what was coming through the door. Something I picked up from my army buddy.


My heart stopped. A strange occurrence considering the amount of caffeine pumping through my veins. I resisted the urge to rub my eyes. Now is not the type to look like a chump. That was the exact look of what I wanted. Tall, well accessorized with the whiff of effortlessness that everyone knows is bullshit, and thick enough below the waist with some love handle to give something to reach for at the gym. The only flaw being a blonde. But you can’t win them all.

I’m glad the baseline checks out but let’s be honest,  she’s probably a bitch. Fucking Guaranteed. It’s always too good to be true. “Hey welcome to Starbucks! Can I get something started for you?” My ears perked up. How you treat the staff is a reflection of your self worth. Probably one of those who’s got a chip on her shoulder from having a weird facial deformity that straightened out years later. Those types are always out for revenge. It’s not enough to be wanted by every guy, they want to have 1000 year old hymns written and sang from the peaks of the Himalayas because that’s how to cure a fucked up childhood. Everyone knows that.

“You know what? Honestly, I don’t know what I want. I’m sorry, I came in here knowing what I wanted but had a change of heart. I hate when that happens.” She turned to the lady behind her. “You can go ahead of me if you want.”

Fuck. She’s metaphysically hilarious and nice. What are the fucking odds. Situational humor is like,  my fucking go to. I literally said that exact thing not 20 minutes ago to a different Barista. It’s rare to see someone who’s comfortable enough to unfilter their thoughts to random strangers. Even more rare for a woman who’s oozing sexuality to do it. They can’t. Guys will become to comfortable, which makes it hard to get rid of them. She needs something to deter the average chumps. This is why Resting Bitch face became a thing.

She walked over to the counter right in front of me. Alright Darby. This is it. You’re interesting, slightly hungover, find humor in everything, made a payment on your oil leaking 2005 Civc, and had 7 people like a short story that you wrote really fast on your new blog. Basically you’re better than every male in the great state of Texas. Walk over there and mutter the first thing that pops in your head. Just then she dropped a packet of Splenda and bent over over to pick it up right in front of me. The perfect apple stared me in the face. Fuck. I could hear a church choir’s angelic harmony singing “Hallelujah” like they were sick of closed pearly gates. I began foaming at the mouth. A small dribble of saliva scraped across my unconnected 5 o’clock shadow.


I used the human pump to force the lubrication back to in it’s reservoir. I glared back. The Gazelle stared back at me. Our eyes locked and I felt the same parallelizing excitement the entrance. Fuck the Nintendo 64 kid. That’s what I wanted! Shit that’s what I deserved! I have dated women in all areas of the US. I’ve went through more catastrophically embarrassing dates that would make most men’s testicles shrivel into raisins. No more of these damaged internet souls. No more lining up endless date after date, hearing how great of a profile I wrote. How I have actual personality. How I’m not trying to impress them. How I am generally interested in who they are and why they are the way they are. What happened during their childhood? What problems are they facing now? How I can help them break out of the prison they’ve built in their mind? But it becomes exhausting. They always want more. This is what happens when you upset the natural yin and yang of relationships. The well always dries up when isolated.

She went back to her normal position, unphased by the audience. A real pro of beauty. I couldn’t stop staring. Throw me in jail for looking, I don’t give a shit. She emptied the packet into her coffee and walked out the door.

I went back to typing,

“Socks I guess…”

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