You rang?

I know this will sound silly. Stupid, irrational and ultimately foolish (I'm in a happy place with my inner and outer fools)... but I just fell in love. And I will never see this person again.

It was a typical Tuesday night. Watching my favourite TV show with a friend when the doorbell rang. I was startled as I wasn't expecting anyone tonight (and everyone that comes over unannounced typically has keys) so curious to see what charity worker would feel my stingy wrath tonight I headed downstairs to the door.

Now, when greeted by a smile as warm as I found upon opening the door most men would be thoroughly disarmed. Mix in a face so sweet with skin of such a golden-hue that, like seeing the sun after an eternity in darkness, stuns you with its brightness and beauty... and they'd be lucky to only lose control of all bodily functions and fall into an intense "Pikachu" state of seizure.

Me?

I managed "Uh... hello?"

Smoooooooooooooooth.

She was breathing heavily. There was a large stand next to her she'd obviously been lugging around the streets. " 'ello" she managed as she regained her composure.

"I am a French art student, and I am trying to sell my artwork. Can I interest you in any of my pieces?"

Now, before I continue I need to point out two things here.

One: as you may have guessed, she was beautiful. And French. And yes, she wore a beret. And in no way did any of that come off as cliched. It just worked, and I was dumbfounded. Enamoured would also work here, but... it's me, and by crikey was I dumbfounded.

Two: while I was thrown by the above, I've become hardwired into a number of auto-responses over the years when people come to my door asking for money. 99% of which fall into the "Politely Bugger Off" category of response.

Which is how the ever eloquent "I'd love to take a look, but I've got bugger all money on me right now" came to pry its way out from between my lips. She smiled that awing smile again, only slightly awkward this time.

"I understand."

The portion of my brain responsible for love, romance and tequiladar (it's like gaydar but for tequila. If you have tequila, I will know about it. And likely drink it.) while painfully atrophied (tequiladar excluded) slowly fired neurons to my vocal chords.

"I'm really sorry. From what I can see it looks really good. You obviously have a lot of talent."

I wasn't lying. I don't lie about art. I can't.

It looked great. The picture up front was of the finish line at a horse race, filled with vibrant colours and a raw texture. Art history was never my forte but it's style reminded me of the famous painting shown in "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" of people at a park.

"Thank you" she blushed. "Well, I should..."

"Of course."

She heaved her collection back under her arm and began to leave. I blurted a "Good luck" and received one last blast of sunshine smile as she reached the driveway.

Not until I saw my friend off to his car 30 minutes later; not as I climbed back up the stairs from closing that door, nor as we finished watching the show; and found myself looking up and down the street did I realise... I am such an idiot! I should have asked for her number, invited her to dinner, bought some of her artwork (and not as a pickup attempt. Like I said, it was actually good.) and should have just been the both feet first, lead with my heart foolhardy twit that I am.

The terrible thing is I may not even remember this happened in a week... which just makes it all the more comedic and tragic. But it's been seven years since I believed that something as small as one ring of the door bell could steal my heart, and if a return to that belief is what I walk away with then I am not a poorer man for it.

And in the mean time, I'll leave a pair of sunnies by the door.

Just in case.


- Sevy