While at a restaurant with a friend, Marcus spotted a waitress who was, as he is oft to mention, “My favorite blond.”*
The thing was, as we prepared to leave, he insisted that I go tell this young lady. Instead, I tried to convince him, maybe we’d see her next time. We could tell her later…
No. It had to be today. It had to be now. I sighed and conceded.
We had a short correspondence where I introduced Marcus to said young woman, told her she was “His favorite blond,” Marcus nodded and smiled at her. She accepted the compliment. We left. He visibly felt better having made this point clear before we left.
The fact is, I didn’t want to go out of my way to compliment this young woman because, well, that would be weird.
Marcus didn’t want to let another day go by without this woman knowing she’s “a favorite.”
Which world do you want to live in?
When will I learn?
*PS, if you are also a favorite blond of Marcus’ – never fear, you are all favorites. Marcus’ has an endless capacity for favorites.