Dear Diary, As I was cycling home the warm aroma of coffee drifted towards me, and tempted me to stop. Almost forgetting to signal, at the last moment I stuck my hand out, whizzed into a space directly outside the coffee shop, parked my bike and fastened it to a pole before taking off the helmet that encased my unflattering hair do. Helmets are essential especially for the young who are nowhere as experienced as 'us oldies'. But we must, if only to show an example. Hopefully the coffee shop has a bathroom with a decent mirror where I can tidy myself up.
The coffee shop is all new to me. Quite tiny, but carefully lit, creating an intimate atmosphere. At every table I looked couples sat, except for a lone man in the far corner. The establishment had its own bakery testified by the warmth of fresh baking wafting out into the eatery. Mmmm, perhaps I should try one cake? After placing my order and taking a seat near the window I gazed around.
One of the most fascinating views in life is the antics and actions of other people. I am a people watcher from way back! Some of the sights I have witnessed were eye opening. Glancing carefully around the room, trying not to arouse suspicions of belonging to the genus of perverts, I wondered who all these strangers were. Weaving stories about their existence is almost as interesting as watching.
Without warning a large lady in a bright citrus dress, orange and yellow on a lime background, made her stand out, even to one not looking. She barged her way to the counter, ordered a long black in a voice that carried across the breadth and width of the room, and stared around, looking it appeared for a particular person. That person had not arrived. I was the only solo diner. She marched, her high-heeled white sandals incongruous on this coolish day, though not out of place with her chiffon frock that I noticed as she came closer that was tightly stretched across her ample bosom.
Was she waiting for her son or daughter? Or perhaps she was meeting with an old schoolfriend, one whom she hadn't seen in the last thirty years? Oh yes, Dear Diary, I will admit, I was curious. Suddenly she noticed the lone man in the distance, and made a beeline for the table. She was meeting a male friend. At this stage my coffee and vanilla slice arrived and I busied myself eating the delectable cake, though several small pieces of pastry and icing did slip onto my new track suit. As I wiped them up with the napkin supplied with the cake a man approached my table and asked if I minded if he could sit down.
Mind Dear Diary! Why should I mind? He was a gorgeous specimen of manhood, nothing at all in appearance of Harold. I smiled a welcome. One must remember their manners; after all a small conversation would give me more to think about than aquariums and gold fish, weddings and families. It's funny how the weather becomes the main topic of conversation when meeting a new acquaintance.
We introduced ourselves; I, Alice, and he, James. A strong sounding name for a strong looking man! I launched into a long description of my new tricycle, informing James that it had opened the outdoors wide open for me. He hadn't ridden a bicycle since his schooldays, though professed to wish he had time for such a simple pleasure.
A loud voice echoed across the room. It was the woman in the ghastly citrus frock. James looked at me quizzically, a surprised look crossing his face at the strength of her lungs. She wouldn't need a megaphone if she were an auctioneer! Her voice would have resounded across the largest of paddocks with a line-up of old vehicles up for sale. We had no option but to listen; the whole room had no option but to listen!
Dear Diary, it was what she said that startled me. She took the gentleman with whom she was sitting to task. She, she informed the room, had come to meet James, and he wasn't James. His small voice replied that he was Kenny, but his second name was James. No, she was positive she was meeting James. They continued to converse, quieter once they realised everyone was all ears. A few minutes later a gale of laughter swept across the room; the woman in the citrus dress leaned over the table planting a red-lipped kiss on Kenny's cheek, and patting him boldly [I thought] on his knee, commented that this was her lucky day. They left shortly after, arm in arm.
James wore a relieved expression, and looking at me, decided he should explain. It seems that James and Gloria, the loud woman in the tight citrus coloured dress had chatted on-line through a dating agency, and had arranged to meet in the coffee shop. Dear Diary, my laughter was as raucous as Gloria's! James was a lovely gentleman; I am sure he would have no problems in finding a lovely lady without resorting to on-line dating. We parted company, both having enjoyed the coffee, and he relieved to have missed out on a date that may not have been suitable.
The coffee shop is all new to me. Quite tiny, but carefully lit, creating an intimate atmosphere. At every table I looked couples sat, except for a lone man in the far corner. The establishment had its own bakery testified by the warmth of fresh baking wafting out into the eatery. Mmmm, perhaps I should try one cake? After placing my order and taking a seat near the window I gazed around.
One of the most fascinating views in life is the antics and actions of other people. I am a people watcher from way back! Some of the sights I have witnessed were eye opening. Glancing carefully around the room, trying not to arouse suspicions of belonging to the genus of perverts, I wondered who all these strangers were. Weaving stories about their existence is almost as interesting as watching.
Without warning a large lady in a bright citrus dress, orange and yellow on a lime background, made her stand out, even to one not looking. She barged her way to the counter, ordered a long black in a voice that carried across the breadth and width of the room, and stared around, looking it appeared for a particular person. That person had not arrived. I was the only solo diner. She marched, her high-heeled white sandals incongruous on this coolish day, though not out of place with her chiffon frock that I noticed as she came closer that was tightly stretched across her ample bosom.
Was she waiting for her son or daughter? Or perhaps she was meeting with an old schoolfriend, one whom she hadn't seen in the last thirty years? Oh yes, Dear Diary, I will admit, I was curious. Suddenly she noticed the lone man in the distance, and made a beeline for the table. She was meeting a male friend. At this stage my coffee and vanilla slice arrived and I busied myself eating the delectable cake, though several small pieces of pastry and icing did slip onto my new track suit. As I wiped them up with the napkin supplied with the cake a man approached my table and asked if I minded if he could sit down.
Mind Dear Diary! Why should I mind? He was a gorgeous specimen of manhood, nothing at all in appearance of Harold. I smiled a welcome. One must remember their manners; after all a small conversation would give me more to think about than aquariums and gold fish, weddings and families. It's funny how the weather becomes the main topic of conversation when meeting a new acquaintance.
We introduced ourselves; I, Alice, and he, James. A strong sounding name for a strong looking man! I launched into a long description of my new tricycle, informing James that it had opened the outdoors wide open for me. He hadn't ridden a bicycle since his schooldays, though professed to wish he had time for such a simple pleasure.
A loud voice echoed across the room. It was the woman in the ghastly citrus frock. James looked at me quizzically, a surprised look crossing his face at the strength of her lungs. She wouldn't need a megaphone if she were an auctioneer! Her voice would have resounded across the largest of paddocks with a line-up of old vehicles up for sale. We had no option but to listen; the whole room had no option but to listen!
Dear Diary, it was what she said that startled me. She took the gentleman with whom she was sitting to task. She, she informed the room, had come to meet James, and he wasn't James. His small voice replied that he was Kenny, but his second name was James. No, she was positive she was meeting James. They continued to converse, quieter once they realised everyone was all ears. A few minutes later a gale of laughter swept across the room; the woman in the citrus dress leaned over the table planting a red-lipped kiss on Kenny's cheek, and patting him boldly [I thought] on his knee, commented that this was her lucky day. They left shortly after, arm in arm.
James wore a relieved expression, and looking at me, decided he should explain. It seems that James and Gloria, the loud woman in the tight citrus coloured dress had chatted on-line through a dating agency, and had arranged to meet in the coffee shop. Dear Diary, my laughter was as raucous as Gloria's! James was a lovely gentleman; I am sure he would have no problems in finding a lovely lady without resorting to on-line dating. We parted company, both having enjoyed the coffee, and he relieved to have missed out on a date that may not have been suitable.
2 comments:
Lol, you should publish this. I'm still wondering what's brewing at home. Re online dating - see if you can find a song named 'Online' by Brad Paisley. Reminds you not to trust what you can't see even if it is humourous!!
Hi Robyn ... I used to work in a Diner and sometimes we had 'customers' who obviously were using the place for a liason, and wondered what would happen if the wrong people met. I began this as a bit of fun, and honestly don't know what will happen from entry to entry. I go with my fingers.
It is lovely knowing I have a regular reader, thank you! :)
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