Sunday morning

One particular Sunday morning, I went to the neighborhood supermarket to shop for groceries. Sundays, lazy as they are, permit me to ditch the heels and suits for a more laid-back pambahay shorts and ratty shirts from college. (Yes, I have shirts that old.) I ditch the socks, too, and slip my bare feet into my old Nike prestos. Shower? Ahahahaha...foregone until after lunch.

Yes, Sunday releases the slob in me.

As I was pushing my cart around the produce section, I noticed a familiar-looking figure out of the corner of my eye. Crap. It was the guy I had been flirting with the past two weeks. Oh yeah, he was HOT. So hot, I wheeled out of produce and into canned meat at top speed...but not after he saw me almost crash into another trolley. Then I heard him call out my name.

With a few precious seconds by the corned beef and MaLing, I tried to push my out-of-bed hair into place and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. Thank God I brushed my teeth, I mumbled.

I turned around, and there he was...great pecs peeking from underneath his sleeveless shirt, and the abs...I can only imagine his abs. "Hey there! You shop here, too?" he asks.

"Er, yeah...closer to home." The less said, the better.

He chit-chats some more, and I realize he probably doesn't care I look like a slob. I just keep the conversation simple with monosyllables. His dazzling smile kept me tongue-tied the whole time.

"Well, gotta run?" He says.

"Huh? Oh, okay."

"Let's have lunch soon, ok?" he says as he pushes his trolley out of the aisle.

*Sigh* I don't remember my feet touching the ground after that.