Might you be the perfect stranger?

Might I be the most imperfect friend, intriguingly?

I was confident in my ask for your company over lunch–just enough to expect a “no, thank you.” Rejection, or, rather, a soft decline, has more than one definition. It’s rarely permanent . . . when a woman has the benefit of time. Mind time; heart time; thought time.

Printing my number instead of asking for yours is less than chivalrous, perhaps. But doesn’t it provide you a harmless out, in the event you lack the interest on further thought?

There’s little worse than a man contacting a woman who simply doesn’t want to be bothered. The “out” is yours. The soft decline is absolutely in your purview, your prerogative.

But so is the “in.”

My father once deposited in my ear, “You never know who you’re going to meet in this life . . . you may just be her sigh.”

Have you ever sighed after dinner . . . with the perfect stranger?
Well, the number’s not gonna dial itself. The text is certainly not gonna send itself. Either proposition is the ideal “out.” Sure enough.

But, gosh, there’s curiosity in the “in.” No?

It’s your prerogative.

I’m not a botherer. I certainly won’t bother you.

Unless you want to be.

To quote a wise man, We just never know who we’re gonna meet in this life, do we?

She may just be the perfect stranger.

So, too, may he.

Gosh.

Invitationally,
Rg2

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Put something in her mind . . . on Pamper-Her-Friday. -Rg2

© 2015 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®