The Blind Date and The Cup of Coffee
©September 18th, 2015
By Vijaya Sundaram
The cup of coffee that she balanced perfectly on her knee looked inviting. So did her knee, with her flowered skirt flowing modestly over it, but it was covered with bright yellow sunflowers and butterflies.
“Shouldn’t you put that coffee-cup on the table?” I asked.
She looked nonplussed. “My coffee always sits on my knee. Is it a problem? I mean, does it bother you?”
“No, no, it doesn’t really. So, what’s your take on … why are you looking at me like that?”
She gazed into my eyes, and it was unnerving, because when I gazed back into hers, I saw little galaxies and entire worlds. I felt pulled in, heart hammering, wonder-struck by this strange, spirit-like girl-woman.
“Have you ever thought that it would be nice to swim in this cup of coffee?” she asked softly.
I was abruptly yanked back from my romantic fantasies, which, I’m sorry to say, had begun to burgeon in a heart that I thought had atrophied from lack of use.
“Swim in this cup of coffee?” I echoed, stupidly.
“Yes, but it would be hot, don’t you think?” Her dreamy voice was full of magic.
My head was swimming. I had no idea how to go from here. Here I was with this yellow-haired girl with the pale, blue eyes full of galaxies, and her soft, lilting voice full of wonder and magic, and here she was, talking quirkily about swimming in a cup of coffee. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m as imaginative as the next guy, but I like the girls I meet to make sense. My mouth hung open. I must have looked the picture of stupefaction.
“And I always thought,” she continued happily, breaking into my swirling silence, “that if all humanity could find cups of coffee to swim in, then we’d all be happily wired, and not worry about messing up the world, because we’d be full of life and … caffeine, and we’d zoom about fixing things, and chattering at top speed to each other, and not listening to a word that anyone else says, which is good, because then, we’d have no fights, and everyone would be utterly peaceful, which is what this troubled world of ours needs, don’t you think?”
I got up, and held my aching head. My coffee was untouched on the table. This blind date, though promising at first, was not going well. Besides, I had to finish that piece of programming I’d begun, or else I’d fall behind on my project, so that was as good an excuse as any to get out of there. I don’t like odd people. I am a staid, solid citizen, good-looking, or so they tell me, reliable, dependable, honest, hard-working. I always pay my bills. I like movies. Books are okay. I don’t have time for deep reading. I have a canary in a cage, whom I call Admiral Stockdale, and he sings to me every day. I am fairly happy. Okay, so I was lonely as well, hence this reaching out and stooping to use that embarrassing thing called ModernBlindDates.com.
And here I was.
“Where are you going?” she murmured in her gentle, velvety voice. It soothed me. How did she do that, make me crazy one minute, and completely docile and willing to listen the next?
I sat back down.
“Nowhere,” I muttered, and signalled to the waiter, who materialized at my side, as if by magic.
“Get me an Irish coffee,” I said, desperately. He bowed obsequiously, and left, no doubt snickering to himself.
My date leaned forwards and said, “That’s not good for you. Why not have more coffee?”
I didn’t answer. She chattered on about strange things. I remember catching the phrase, “Blibbering humdinger,” and “Crumple-Horned Snorkack,” but I was too lost in her beautiful, galactic eyes. When the waiter returned with my Irish coffee, I knew it was now, or never. I didn’t care whether I was proper or not.
I grabbed her hand and went on bended knee. I didn’t care if she was crazy, or whether I was not making any sense.
“Ms. Lovegood, will you marry me?” I asked.
The whole restaurant broke into applause.
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With apologies to J.K. Rowling for using one of her characters, who is one of my most favorite characters in all modern literature.