by rheeb

Dear Christine,

You were a pleasant surprise at the Walgreens pharmacy.  I knew you were special when my usual impatience seemed to disappear as I saw your face.  Lovely, you were!  So beautiful.  Sandy red hair and perfectly chubby.  I lost all words as you kept filling prescriptions through phone calls and with drive-thru patients.  And then, of course, you’d come to me, telling me to fill out paperwork and consoling me when you found out my plight.  But you know what the best part was?  The moment your assistant told me that you would be administering my shot.  I walked over to the consultation room and saw you through the two-way glass, gathering the needles and preparing the room.  And then you said, “Come on in,” so I did, and I found myself talking nervously–behaving buffoon-like, not knowing what to do with myself in your presence.  The room was pregnant with small talk requirements that always make me feel odd, like a three-year old who simply wants to hide and stare.  But what was I to do, Christine?  You were so gorgeous that I was at a loss for words.   And then I asked, “What’s your name?”  Boldness was welcome at that moment.  “Christine,” you said.  And then, coming from my lips, “Well, this is my last shot, so too bad I won’t get to see you anymore.”  And that was that, in the consultation room at Walgreens on a lazy Sunday afternoon.