Oh My G-d.
Maybe I was having a blind date the other night that went well. Just saying, supposing. Maybe.
Maybe we came back to my cute little flat after a drink or two.
Maybe I put on a little Edith Piaf, and maybe I opened another bottle of wine.
Maybe he was a tall latin boy with an MBA, who spoke fluent Italian.
Maybe he tried to kiss me. And maybe I decided this was a good time to pull the blinds. It is a court yard building after all.
And maybe my blinds fell down when I tried to close them. Like on the floor - full out, tabs breaking. Crashing. Plastic splintering everywhere.
Maybe the moment was lost.
Maybe it wasn't.
Maybe this morning when I got up, and decided to pull my dated blinds up - with a cup of coffee in one hand, and my crossword puzzle sticking out of my housecoat pocket, and I did half ass job pulling the blind cord.
Maybe the dated blind fell down, and I slopped coffee all down the front of my pajama suit and housecoat.
Maybe I had to put my Tribune crossword puzzle on the table to dry, and had to do it later in the afternoon, once it dried. Maybe I couldn't tell what the clue for 19 down was because of a french roast stain.
At anyrate, one of those two things did happen. You decide.
But what really did happen: I went to the home improvement store, and bought new parts, and fixed my blinds. They work like a charm.
Which reminds me of an amusing party favorite: A nun is taking a bath. She hears a knock on the door, and says "who is it?", and hears "the blind man". She thinks to herself, and says "Oh, all right, come in". Upon opening the door, he looks at the Sister and says "Nice tits. Where do you want me to hang these?" I love that joke.
Moral of this blog: Dated blinds or blind dates? Which is worse?