Today at the laundromat Vincent told me I looked better than last time (“you looked so tired”), and I told him that it’s been kind of a rough month. “Do you drink?” he asked.
“Because you smell like alcohol.” Then he asked if I like wine, and I said I did, and he suggested we have some. Then he explained how he buys it, which is in bulk, and that he lets it age for a couple years. I said great, and I don’t even really know where this is going.
I wrote a thing for the Times that ends with a mention of this random guy who told me I should wear my glasses out of the house more often, so the other day I did, to pick up my laundry, and Vincent said he almost didn’t recognize me. I was like “ahh, yeah, it’s my early morning look,” and he was like, “you look prettier without them, but with them you look more professional. Put them on for work, but then take them off for dating.” We laughed, and I was like “okay.”
On the way home I was wondering what it would be like to marry Vincent and how we would have a good how-we-met story. “And then I told him that I’d been writing about him on Tumblr for months.”