Rachel Greer

The door to Starbucks opened and my savior appeared,
her expression no more pleasant than it had been before.
She silently handed me my white cup and change.

"Nothing for yourself?" I asked. "I really didn't mean
to keep you from your own coffee."

"You didn't," she said, her curled-lip look at the
dogs letting me know that she was most definitely not a
hound lover, and that that had probably been what put her
off her latte.

"Well, I’m sorry if I ruined your coffee break
anyway," I said, smiling pleasantly. "I really, really
appreciate this." I tried to think of something to say to
make up for the favor. Finally, I focused on the red
leather tote she was carrying. "Great bag," I commented.

She looked positively stunned and made a sound in the
back of her throat that was an odd combination of choke and
sob. She shifted her gaze heavenward before grinding out
between brilliant white, clenched teeth, "You have got to
be kidding."

Geez. You'd think I'd said something wrong. Most women
(especially women who clearly devoted more time to their
appearance each day than I did in a month) would have been
flattered to receive a compliment about an obviously pricy
handbag. Wasn't that the only reason they carried them? To
elicit comments from other people who were awed that they
spent so much money on a purse?

"Well, sorry, again," I said, with a wave of my coffee
cup. "I'd better get these dogs back to the shelter.
Thanks."

I turned to move down the sidewalk again, pulling on
the dogs, who were still sniffing intently around the
strange woman's feet. "Come on, boys and girls."

We got across the street, while I gulped down my
coffee, scalding my throat and tongue in the process, but
knowing that as soon as that caffeine hit my system, I'd be
good to go for another few hours. I didn't worry too much
about falling asleep tonight, as I'd be beyond exhaustion
by that time, as usual, and would be in dreamland as soon
as I hit the pillow. Dropping my now-empty cup off in
another conveniently placed trash can (no one could accuse
Cameron Creek residents of being litterbugs), the dogs and
I were heading back toward the shelter when I heard the
voice calling me.

"Wait!"

Turning, I found the woman from Starbucks had followed
us--apparently reluctantly, judging from the continued
unpleasant look on her face.

"Can I help you with something?" I asked, trying not
to be alarmed at the vaguely maniacal look on her face. Her
brow was furrowed deeply over wild-looking eyes, and she
was breathing hard, not from exertion, but almost like she
was about to have a panic attack.

"Not hardly," she choked out.

At her cautious glance toward the dogs--whose range
she had stopped well out of--I thought I finally
understood. "Oh, do you want to adopt one of the dogs? That
would be great! I'm on my way back to the shelter now.
Which one do you like? Personally, I like that one there."
I pointed at the dignified, curly-haired pooch sitting
patiently away from the others, waiting for permission to
move again. "She's a little sweetie. I'd take her home if I-
-"

"I don't want a dog," she interrupted. "I want you."

My mouth dropped open. This had to be the weirdest
pickup situation ever. "I...uh," I stammered when I finally
got my ability to speak back. "I'm sorry, I don't...I date
men. Well, I don't date men...or women, right now, because,
well, I'm just not in the market to date now. Or, ever.
Really." I realized I was babbling, a nervous habit, and I
clamped my mouth shut. Now that the woman knew that I
wasn't a lesbian, she would probably just thank me for my
time, sorry for the bother, and leave.

"Let me rephrase," she said slowly, as if she were
talking to a small child. I was just freaked out enough by
the situation not to take offense. "I need you."

"But, I just told you, I don't swing that way," I
replied, getting a bit irritated.

"I don't believe I mentioned swinging," she snapped,
tossing a handful of hair over her shoulder. "What are you
talking about?"

"You just said you wanted me...or needed me," I
said. "I'm talking about that fact that I’m not a lesbian,
and wouldn't date you even if I was accepting dates right
now, which I'm not. I'm not looking for a man. And I'm
really not looking for a woman."

"I wasn't asking you out!" If possible, her look of
repulsion got stronger. "I'm telling you that I'm...oh,
upon Zeus, why does this have to be so difficult?" When I
continued to stare, she finally squared her shoulders and
looked me straight in the eye, and said with the
seriousness of a comedic straight man, "I'm your fairy
godmother."