How do I know he’s The One?
Well picture a gray and drizzly morning in Paris. I wanted to stay in bed, he wanted to brave the weather and go to Notre Dame. I agreed to haul my ass outdoors on the condition that we stop by a store first to get an umbrella.
Click click click!
Ten minutes have gone by and we still haven’t found one. Bloody Franprix (see point B on the map) doesn’t sell em. I ended up buying a pack of lighters to get a big supermarket plastic bag to use as a makeshift cover to prevent my head from being drenched. I told Stewie that we should go back and wait until the rain stops but he suggested that we continue walking.
It started to pour really bad after a few blocks. It was horrible. My clothes were wet, my handbag was wet, everything. I could no longer handle it so I threw a bitch fit. I threw the plastic bag to the ground, asked him for the keys and told him he can go to Notre Dame but I’m going back.
He left, I left. We’ll deal with it later.
I ran to the side of the road (see point C) and stood where there’s shade. Might as well stand there until it stops pouring. I lit a cigarette to calm myself. I started to wonder whether he was pissed at me or not. We never fought before and it was the first time I screamed at him.
Halfway through my ciggie, I saw a silhouette of a man walking to my direction. It was him. I thought to myself, ‘oh boy, this is not gonna be pretty’.
He had a cheeky grin on his face.
He also got me something. Turns out, there was a souvenir shop a block away.
Something small, something black, something nylon.
No, it wasn’t something Prada (how I wish) but he got me an umbrella!
Most people don’t have patience for me (and vice-versa) and here’s someone who not only got me an umbrella but also kept an eye on me the whole fucking time.
To say I was impressed is probably an understatement. I was touched.
Not a scene from Breakfast at Tiffany’s but damn, it was close.