“You know how some people spend their entire lives waiting on someone?”
“Yeah, sure. I suppose.”
“I feel like I’m there. When you’re staring at the toaster waiting for it to pop, when you’re glaring at the pot waiting for it to boil, when you’re watching the sky waiting for the star to fall.”
“Who are you waiting on?”
“I’m not sure to be honest. I don’t know his name yet, but I know he’s out there.”
“What’s he like?”
“He’ll be tall because I want to be able to wear high-heels. He’ll be smart because I don’t want to dumb myself down when I’m talking to him. He’ll have a sense of humor so he’ll be able to laugh when I screw up. He won’t be perfect but he’ll be perfect for me.”
“Sounds specific. Should we have try outs?”
“What? No. He isn’t the type of guy who would show up to something like that. He likes the waiting, he thinks the waiting is what makes the toast hit that perfect degree of crunch, what makes the star so beautiful when it plunges. If we didn’t wait, it would be raw, it wouldn’t be ready.”
“That makes sense. What about you, do you like the waiting?”
“I eat my toasts cold, what do you think?”
“Touche.”
“But for him, I think I’ll be able to wait. I think I could be one of those kids waiting all night for a midnight showing because they know the movie is going to be just that good. Maybe he has some growing up to do, maybe I have something to learn before we crash into each other. Maybe. The waiting will be worth it though.”
“And what are you going to do while you wait?”
“Think. Dream. Eat a raw bread.”
