I met a man for coffee

I met a man for coffee.

He made some joke about how indecisive women are.

Who knew an egg with a yolk, was like a punchline to a joke,

and one could never uncrack it?

I stared at him with a milk blank expression.

Why so bitter? He asks, Must be the coffee, I answer.

We take turns wondering rude things about each other. It’s somehow the most polite thing we had accomplished. 

Why can’t she be less uptight?

Why is everything that comes out of his mouth a slight?

Why is she never satisfied?

Why is it that by his rules I must abide?

Was this coffee made of water containing fluoride?

My mind wandered outside of the conversation. His too. Our level of synchronization was the most romantic aspect of the situation. 

He then started to flex his muscles, despite there being no one in sight. He avoided my gaze as he posed.

A self conscious egoist? The first in human history, probably.

He was beginning to turn pink, and there was still no one around. Was this a show of the determination, strength, and will they apparently have?

I called for the check softly, but my words broke the silence. 

Waiter! I yell. Do you accept cash? I say. Free me, my expression whispers. 

I give-- more like throw-- him my share of the bill in coins. Mazel tov? 

The waiter is so startled, that he drops the cups he was holding, shattering them on the sidewalk ground.

We attempt to avoid the shards, but to no avail. We were effectively stepping on glass.

Very in character of me to marry a random guy that I’ve never even had coffee with…