Stop looking at me. I'm not your type.

If I turn my heart upside down and expunge every drip of love, it’d be yours.  The fever I’m feeling is only because our souls have met and they’re furiously rubbing together.  You’re standing in aisle three.  I’m standing in aisle six.

The people around us don’t know it but I do.  They’re oblivious to cupid pointing to me then pointing to you.  But with my past luck, you’d catch me staring at you and your first words to me would be, ‘Stop looking at me.  I’m not your type.”  “But I am your type!” I’d scream, "We’re meant to be together!"

I saw you hold the Womens Weekly and flip through it nonchalantly.  You’re a man.  You’re a burly man.  You’re a man who’d never ever read about Kerri-Anne Kennerley.  Ever.  But here you are.  You’re using the magazine as a mask.  You’re using the pages as a wall of physical security from me.  You’re hands and eyes are busy.  You’re keeping them busy because you’re afraid if they’re not, you won’t be able to stand the thought of me being here but you being too shy to approach me.  It’ll break your heart if I walk out of Woolworths with my ‘Dinner For One’ and you haven’t at least asked for my name.

I’m getting closer to the Checkout, the guy in front of me has purchased his condoms and is on his way to a better life.  Me on the other hand, I’m edging closer to the door.

I have to do something to get you to talk to me.  I whistle.  I whistle a tune I’ve never heard before.  Actually, it’s probably from the Dixie Chicks Greatest Hits.  I use an excuse to look in your direction.  I look at you then I look right past you.  The Baygon cockroach spray is on special.  It interests me.  Have I got cockroach’s?  No. 

I turn around to the person behind me and whisper.  “Can you mind my spot, I’ve forgotten something…”  They’re not impressed.  But there’s a hierarchy in the line.  I’m currently their superior and they know it.

I lunge for the back of the line.  I have to get close to you.  I have to give you a reason to talk to me.  Roach spray.  Roach spray.  It’s embarrassing but please, dear god please, just say something to me.

I’ve done the lunge.  I’ve done the obvious panic and have disturbed a few shoppers in my quest.  I’ve upset the apple cart and set them into a silent tizz of explanations about my unexpected rebellion of breaking food shopping line ranks.  I’m getting closer now.  You don’t have long.  I’m giving you every opportunity.  Please, give me something.

I’ve made it to the roach spray.  I’m so close and have my back to you.  I’m seriously thinking about picking the spray up.  Come on.  Something.

I look to my left and then to my right.  There’s gotta be something else.  But you’re less than three metres from me.  Even though I can’t see you anymore, I know you can see me. 

I pick up the spray in the vain hope that when I turn around you’ll smile and come up with some kind of vermin quip.  I’m looking for a quip.  A smile.  An acknowledgment that you also felt that intense connection when our eyes met.  Don’t hide behind Kerri-Anne.

I turn around.  I’m holding the spray and trying to hide it.  I have a line to get back to.  I look at you.  I really look at you.

Eureka!  You look back at me.  You’re looking directly at me!  You smile.  You’re smiling!  You nod your head ever so slightly.  But you nod your head! 

I’ve gotta get back to my line.  Talk to me.  Come up with something.  Talk about the spray.  Make fun of the school of cockroaches in my dingy apartment.  Tell me I need to clean up my act, just say something!  I’m less than two metres away from you now.  I’m walking directly towards you.  It’s all or nothing!

  

FROM HIS POINT OF VIEW. 

She’s cute.  What’s she doin’?  Oh she’s got cockroaches. I don’t wanna go out with her.”