Guess who is having trouble juggling all her deadlines and managing her time this week? (Really? You didn't figure out yet it's me?) No witty, wise words from me this week, but I offer you this humble little piece of flash fiction (which first appeared on TheStoryside.com) instead:
MEET CUTE by Stacey Longo
Justin and Andrea were soul mates.
The universe had thrown them across each other’s paths multiple times, but the two seemed completely unaware they were destined to be together. In fact, anyone watching—be it Fate, the gods, or some sort of spiritual cupid—would swear Justin and Andrea positively hated each other.
It was Trump’s fault.
They first met outside Whole Foods, when Andrea’s shopping cart rolled away as she was loading her organic apricots and freshly baked cheese loaf into the back of her Prius. She had no clue her cart had gone rogue until a sharp voice proclaimed, “Hey! Watch it!”
She looked up to behold the most handsome man she’d ever laid eyes on: green eyes and blond curls and dimples that wouldn’t quit. On any other day, she’d probably think I could get lost in those eyes. But she was already late to meet her mother for yoga class, and she’d found her first chin hair that morning, and was already furious at the universe because, quite frankly, twenty-six was too darn young to be sprouting chin hairs. She was mad.
“It was an accident. Sorry!” Except she said sorry like sohr-ree, and Justin’s dimples faded to a scowl.
“Just be more considerate, okay?” He shoved the cart back in her direction, turning to load his own bag of apricots and freshly baked cheese loaf into the back of his Prius.
A few weeks later, when they crossed paths again at the smoothie counter of Oh Kale Yes, Justin thought the petite woman with the olive skin and dancing black eyes looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite place her. She reminded him of a young Salma Hayek—maybe that was it.
He hated Salma Hayek. He’d first seen her on the big screen in From Dusk ’til Dawn, as the uppity, authoritative Santanico Pandemonium, and quite frankly, he hadn’t liked her attitude.
“I’ll have a strawberry fields forever,” he and Andrea said in unison.
Perhaps if Justin hadn’t been woken that morning by his cat regurgitating a hairball on his pillow, or if he hadn’t banged his knee on the frame trying to wrest the door open to the smoothie bar, only to have this young Hayek breeze past him with a soft thanks and cut in line, he would’ve allowed her to go first. But today was not his day. And he was determined to make sure it wouldn’t be her day, either.
“Hey, ding-dong. I was here first.”
Justin didn’t know that ding-dong was a term of endearment between Andrea and her late, beloved grandmother. She smiled wistfully at him, which should’ve melted his heart. But he was thirsty, his knee ached, and his hair still smelled vaguely of feline vomit. “I’ll have a strawberry fields forever,” he repeated. “She can wait.”
The universe was not ready to give up on these lovebirds. It took its time, waiting for an opportunity in which both were in the right frame of mind.
In early November, that day came.
Justin woke that morning full of hope. There was a spring to his step as he walked to work, and passersby smiled at the song he was humming: “Stronger Together.” He felt on top of the world.
Andrea, too, started her day off right. Her landlord had finally gotten the hot water heater fixed, and she belted out “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” as she shampooed her silky locks under the steaming spray. She was met with three green lights on her drive in to work. Things were looking good for Andrea.
Both Justin and Andrea voted, missing each other at the polls by mere minutes, but then both decided it might be fun to wait out the election results at the Branford Tavern in town. Justin had taken Wednesday off for an eye appointment; Andrea to take her tabby to the vet for his annual shots. They had all night to see what the future held.
Serendipity.
Justin spotted the dark-eyed beauty at the bar, sitting alone, sipping a pickle margarita. He did not think of Salma Hayek. He was thinking instead that here was someone else who drank the most delicious dill cocktail in the world. And she was positively beautiful.
“This must be fate,” he said, sliding onto the stool next to hers.
They fell into conversation easily, discussing hybrid cars and organic apricots and cats. Justin felt like he’d known this wonderful, amazing woman his whole life. Andrea was silently thanking God for bringing her a kind, decent man for once.
Then the election results started coming in. “Vermont goes to Hillary Clinton,” CNN declared. Justin’s sigh of relief was drowned out by Andrea’s, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Excuse me?” Justin asked.
“I’m so sick of the way our nation has been driven into the ground by lifelong politicians who care nothing about the little guy.” Andrea’s pretty pink pout turned down at the corners. “Just last year, my insurance premiums went up three hundred dollars a month. A month! Can you believe it?”
“Wait. You think a rich businessman is going to change that? Did you not watch the debates? You just got finished telling me you were recently diagnosed with hypertrichosis. That’s a preexisting condition. You’re exactly the kind of person that—that--troll wants to deny health coverage to.”
“Fake news!” Andrea squawked.
“He said it himself!” The neon green of his cocktail sloshed as Justin slammed it down on the bar.
“Altered tapes created by a vast left-wing conspiracy.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Hillary’s emails,” Andrea hissed.
Justin blinked at his martini glass, then let his gaze rise to this gorgeous, amazing woman sitting next to him, her eyes ablaze in fury. He swallowed hard. “And, uh, how do you feel about . . . dare I ask . . . global warming?” The last two words came out a strangled whisper.
Andrea threw her drink in his face.
As she stormed out and Justin wiped pickle juice off his shirt, the universe gave up with a quiet sigh. The times, they were a-changing.
Justin and Andrea were soul mates.
The universe had thrown them across each other’s paths multiple times, but the two seemed completely unaware they were destined to be together. In fact, anyone watching—be it Fate, the gods, or some sort of spiritual cupid—would swear Justin and Andrea positively hated each other.
It was Trump’s fault.
They first met outside Whole Foods, when Andrea’s shopping cart rolled away as she was loading her organic apricots and freshly baked cheese loaf into the back of her Prius. She had no clue her cart had gone rogue until a sharp voice proclaimed, “Hey! Watch it!”
She looked up to behold the most handsome man she’d ever laid eyes on: green eyes and blond curls and dimples that wouldn’t quit. On any other day, she’d probably think I could get lost in those eyes. But she was already late to meet her mother for yoga class, and she’d found her first chin hair that morning, and was already furious at the universe because, quite frankly, twenty-six was too darn young to be sprouting chin hairs. She was mad.
“It was an accident. Sorry!” Except she said sorry like sohr-ree, and Justin’s dimples faded to a scowl.
“Just be more considerate, okay?” He shoved the cart back in her direction, turning to load his own bag of apricots and freshly baked cheese loaf into the back of his Prius.
A few weeks later, when they crossed paths again at the smoothie counter of Oh Kale Yes, Justin thought the petite woman with the olive skin and dancing black eyes looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite place her. She reminded him of a young Salma Hayek—maybe that was it.
He hated Salma Hayek. He’d first seen her on the big screen in From Dusk ’til Dawn, as the uppity, authoritative Santanico Pandemonium, and quite frankly, he hadn’t liked her attitude.
“I’ll have a strawberry fields forever,” he and Andrea said in unison.
Perhaps if Justin hadn’t been woken that morning by his cat regurgitating a hairball on his pillow, or if he hadn’t banged his knee on the frame trying to wrest the door open to the smoothie bar, only to have this young Hayek breeze past him with a soft thanks and cut in line, he would’ve allowed her to go first. But today was not his day. And he was determined to make sure it wouldn’t be her day, either.
“Hey, ding-dong. I was here first.”
Justin didn’t know that ding-dong was a term of endearment between Andrea and her late, beloved grandmother. She smiled wistfully at him, which should’ve melted his heart. But he was thirsty, his knee ached, and his hair still smelled vaguely of feline vomit. “I’ll have a strawberry fields forever,” he repeated. “She can wait.”
The universe was not ready to give up on these lovebirds. It took its time, waiting for an opportunity in which both were in the right frame of mind.
In early November, that day came.
Justin woke that morning full of hope. There was a spring to his step as he walked to work, and passersby smiled at the song he was humming: “Stronger Together.” He felt on top of the world.
Andrea, too, started her day off right. Her landlord had finally gotten the hot water heater fixed, and she belted out “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” as she shampooed her silky locks under the steaming spray. She was met with three green lights on her drive in to work. Things were looking good for Andrea.
Both Justin and Andrea voted, missing each other at the polls by mere minutes, but then both decided it might be fun to wait out the election results at the Branford Tavern in town. Justin had taken Wednesday off for an eye appointment; Andrea to take her tabby to the vet for his annual shots. They had all night to see what the future held.
Serendipity.
Justin spotted the dark-eyed beauty at the bar, sitting alone, sipping a pickle margarita. He did not think of Salma Hayek. He was thinking instead that here was someone else who drank the most delicious dill cocktail in the world. And she was positively beautiful.
“This must be fate,” he said, sliding onto the stool next to hers.
They fell into conversation easily, discussing hybrid cars and organic apricots and cats. Justin felt like he’d known this wonderful, amazing woman his whole life. Andrea was silently thanking God for bringing her a kind, decent man for once.
Then the election results started coming in. “Vermont goes to Hillary Clinton,” CNN declared. Justin’s sigh of relief was drowned out by Andrea’s, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Excuse me?” Justin asked.
“I’m so sick of the way our nation has been driven into the ground by lifelong politicians who care nothing about the little guy.” Andrea’s pretty pink pout turned down at the corners. “Just last year, my insurance premiums went up three hundred dollars a month. A month! Can you believe it?”
“Wait. You think a rich businessman is going to change that? Did you not watch the debates? You just got finished telling me you were recently diagnosed with hypertrichosis. That’s a preexisting condition. You’re exactly the kind of person that—that--troll wants to deny health coverage to.”
“Fake news!” Andrea squawked.
“He said it himself!” The neon green of his cocktail sloshed as Justin slammed it down on the bar.
“Altered tapes created by a vast left-wing conspiracy.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Hillary’s emails,” Andrea hissed.
Justin blinked at his martini glass, then let his gaze rise to this gorgeous, amazing woman sitting next to him, her eyes ablaze in fury. He swallowed hard. “And, uh, how do you feel about . . . dare I ask . . . global warming?” The last two words came out a strangled whisper.
Andrea threw her drink in his face.
As she stormed out and Justin wiped pickle juice off his shirt, the universe gave up with a quiet sigh. The times, they were a-changing.
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