I've never seen a single good looking male in said grocery store for years, but all of a sudden, there he was. Bending over some Tyson's Chicken in the meat aisle. A total dreamboat. Unfortunately for me, my mother was examining the chicken as well. I've always thought there was something about chicken that brings people together. So while she stood there comparing two whole chickens and absentmindedly asking me which one I thought looked plumper, I stood gazing at Mr. Tyson Chicken. He wore a hideous white baseball cap that no doubt was covering a head full of unbrushed, unkempt, and unruly hair. But I dismissed any repulsion I might have had for Mr. Tyson Chicken's hair because it's summer, and everyone gets scruffy in the summer.
Right when I was beginning to get carried away with romantic thoughts of a long, lazy, midnight stroll on the beach with Mr. Tyson Chicken, my mother calls me to her attention so that she could loudly question whether this was the same chicken we had for dinner last week. I scan quickly at the half-domesticated poultry in her hand and nod with a grunt of affirmation. When I turn around to look for Mr. Tyson Chicken, he had disappeared. It was like one of those Scream movies where Neve Campbell would turn around and the killer would disappear. Needless to say, I was crestfallen.
I blame my wistful gazes at cute strangers on my wholesome asian upbringing. Maybe if my parents weren't always there and watching my every move, I would feel less asphyxiated by their proximity. Who knows? But I guess there are millions of men and women out there who are also afraid of confrontation, so in the end, all that is left is a sea of longing glances and shy smiles.