Mr. Green Shoes

Hello Mr. Green shoes! I’m in love, and it’s only been 30 seconds. It never ceases to amaze me how quickly I can access the potential of a man. Yes, I have a chronic disease called P.M.S. (Potential Man Syndrome) I see every man as potential to be mine until proven otherwise. Mr. Green shoes is no exception. With his fit tee, his just loose enough gray pants that make him look easy breezy, and his fabulous green shoes…he’s definitely got my attention. Any man that wears colored shoes deserves a long look. I mean, that says a lot about his personality. Not afraid to be different. Confident. Creative. Quirky. Cool. These things all add up to major potential.

Then I listen in like a stalker to his coffee order. Even deeper layers of his psyche are revealed. No frilly latte for this man. No chocolaty smoothie thing claiming to be mocha. (which men think means coffee, but actually means chocolate.) It’s the first way to spot a poser. Yeh….just because you get your chocolate milkshakes at Starbucks rather than McDonald’s does not make you a grown up. This man orders coffee straight up. Well, an Americana, which is espresso and hot water. No foamy mustaches for this guy. No sugary coma. He does however add a dash of cinnamon which leads me to believe he has a more refined taste than most and cinnamon being one of my favorite spices, automatically wins him more potential points. The usually competent girl behind the counter calls out his name and hands him his potentially perfect cup of coffee.

The name, you ask? A manly one of course. Jack. Jack is good name because it’s simple and strong. It can belong to a rock climbing, Jeep driving, beach loving, wood chopping, movie quoting, adventurer or a button up, mortgage paying, long term goal oriented, penny pinching, broad shouldered, square jawed family man. Jack is often short for Jackson which is the lead character in a steamy soap opera, the shirtless man on the front of a romance novel or at the very least the name of a hero. Jack is the stuff fairly tales are made of. Jack and the beanstalk. Jack and Jill. Oh, if only my name was Jill, I’d have a great opening line. Sigh…

Back to the usually competent girl behind the counter. Likely distracted by the same magic I am, coffee girl got Jack’s order wrong. Politely he corrects her, and she begins the flirtatious apology. You know, the one where she talks about how stupid she is, begging Jack to say something like “no you’re not!” Only, he doesn’t say that. He says one of my favorite and equally frustrating phrases. “No worries,” he says. “No worries,” is a very easy breezy thing to say, which only proves the potential his pants told me earlier. It’s a comforting phrase. A calming one. It says don’t sweat the small stuff, you can fix this, and I’m strong and not easily shaken, all in two words. It can be frustrating when overused, such as in the situation of a fire or other life threatening or emotionally wracking event. Then the guy saying "no worries" is a complete jerk, or does not understand the concept of reality.

Mr. Green shoes, armed with his now correct and perfect cup of joe, stroll ever so effortlessly towards me. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was floating on air or at least some sort of invisible conveyer belt that only works for incredibly good looking, colored shoe wearing men.

This is my moment. My one fleeting moment to make an impression. One bare foot is folded innocently under my purple floral print skirt, while the other dangles playfully. I hold my giant coffee cup with my name emblazoned on the side, proclaiming I’m a regular here, and I’m serious about coffee, but not too serious about life. With the other hand I hold down the pages of the classic novel in my lap. The cup lifted to my face, and my head pointed down, I wait until I’m aware that his approach has brought him to the optimal spot for viewing my cuteness. Then I glance upward with my eyes, but not my head. It says, I’m mostly interested in what I’m doing, but I’ll give you a chance to catch my attention. I make eye contact and lift the left corner of my mouth in a sly flirtatious grin. With my body I’m saying I’m comfortable with who I am, and I’m not focused on finding a man, but with my eyes I’m saying, “come on over here baby” like Joss Stone on her best day.

The moment passes and Mr. Green shoes leaves me with one last shinning example of his potential. An award winning smile that makes me feel warm all over, as he walks out the door and out of my life forever. Thus ending his potential. I giggle a little to myself, thinking “if people only knew what goes on in my head!” Another sigh escapes my lips, and I lift my head to the sound of a deep sexy voice saying “Grande Sumatra black,” and the whole things begins again.

I love coffee shops. An endless parade of potential, a thousand chances to perfect my sly grin, a million possibilities.