Waiting was the worst part

Waiting was the worst part. Patience was never one of her virtues. Not knowing for what you were waiting was even worse.

“Hey, Red, where’s the fire?!” Her thoughts were interrupted by a thick-tongued, built-like-a-brick bumpkin who had, only moments earlier, sped up to get in front of her, then slowed down so much that she saw the detail in the plastic balls swinging from his trailer hitch. He was staring at her through her window, which she was forced to leave down since her air conditioning had not been working for weeks.

Without missing a beat, Georgia gave the driver the salute. A man salute, too, where all but the middle finger are hidden on the back end – not one of those chick flicks, where the fingers are only half-bent and the thumb sticks out.

As the light clicked from red to green, she watched her rearview mirror as the redneck vanished within seconds. She loved traffic emasculation, especially behind the wheel of her old, unassuming Volvo with the flaking paint and high mileage.

Opting out of her existential meltdown for the moment, Georgia Johnston cranked up the volume of her factory stereo and sang out loud to her current favorite pop song.

She arrived at the chain restaurant where she had had several other dates. She hoisted herself out of the low car and flapped the back of her shirt to get some air to her sweat-slicked back. Sexy, she thought sarcastically as she performed a quick moisture-check of her armpits.

Online dating was the pits. She drew freaks to her like one of those purple-lighted bug zappers.

She had been corresponding via email and other social media forms with this man for about a month. He was funny, intelligent and Latin. She had only seen a couple of pictures of him, but he was tall and dark, and he posed with a sexy bad-boy lip bite.

“Georgia?”

She turned at the sound of the deep voice and looked up at Lorenzo. Suddenly, she wasn’t so concerned about the triangle-shaped sweat pattern on the back of her cotton shirt.

“Oh, yes! Yes. Yeah, I’m Georgia. It’s nice to finally meet you!” she sputtered and offered a handshake.

She made a conscious and concentrated effort to look him in the eyes and not stare at the bulbous protrusion hanging from his lower lip. A quick glance as they were escorted to their table confirmed that it was a bluish-purple color. It looked soft. Like a lip boob. Like a giant, bruised lip boob.

A petite server appeared and perkily asked, “May I start you off with something to drink?”

“Jack and Coke, please. Make it a double.”