398.2

The Spot

Romance Contest "How They Met" Entry: The Spot

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Sabrina:

There's a ketchup stain on his shirt.

Guy #12, Allen, has a pinkish hue spot on his left chest, half an inch above his shirt pocket. It's a new shirt too. The creases from the way it was folded before are still visible. Has this guy never heard of an iron? What does this say to me? Several things.

Allen is a messy eater. I'm trying to imagine how the blob of ketchup reached that angle. Was he eating fries while lying on his side and the ketchup from his fry dripped that way? Or maybe he angled his head sideways while stuffing his mouth with a hotdog. Either way, Allen loves junk food. What else does one eat ketchup with? Not filet mignon or steak tartare, that's for sure.

Furthermore, since Allen's nearly clean shirt is new, why doesn't he own older button down, sky blue oxford shirts? Does he work? He must only wear T-shirts to work if he doesn't have one good collared shirt hanging in his closet. I think he's wearing jeans. I wasn't able to check out his shoes. Maybe if I pretend to drop something, I can look at what pair of shoes he has on. Too bad I didn't bring anything I can drop. The lack of nice shirts subtract possible employments: Allen is not a lawyer, businessman, banker, heck, even servers have shirts with buttons.

So, Allen is a messy, junk food-eater, who possibly has blue-collar job or is jobless. But I know he is single or with someone who isn't interested on him anymore. How can I tell this other than the lack of a wedding ring on his finger? That spot. If Allen has a girlfriend or lives with someone who cares enough what he looks like, that person will, one, have him change into something less dirty, hopefully ironed, and two, tell him he has a pink stain on his shirt and have him wash it. If Allen has a girlfriend, well, he is a cheating bastard, and he shouldn't be here.

I stare at the spot again. I do hope it's ketchup. What if it's blood? No. I can't think this way. This is why Becky forced me to come to one of these things. She claims I need to experience non-fictional, living and breathing people. I told her my book boyfriends never disappoint.

Another thing, I know Allen doesn't live with his mother. If he does, she will buy, wash, starch and iron his button down shirts. My mother did all that to my brothers' shirts, and jeans, and underwear. Oh, the sacrifices that woman made.

My mother is the other reason why I'm here. She's always hoping that I will soon meet a husband to give her more grandchildren she can enjoy. Kids... hmmm... I'm not against them, but I'm barely twenty-five. How about I get a date first?

At least, Allen tried to clean his (hopefully) ketchup stain. I think I have Tide-to-go in my purse. I wonder if he would mind if I rub a bit of it on that stain. Who knows? Maybe after tonight, he'll want to return it, since he won't have a need for it on his T-shirt only job. I let my eyes roam down one rolled-up sleeve to his tanned and not-too-hairy muscular arm, all the way to his tapping fingers.

Shoot! I'm supposed to be engaging him on some kind of talk. But good. Not even a shadow of a wedding band on that finger.

When he clears his throat, I force myself to look up, past the stain and to his face

Holy crap!

Guy #12, Allen is hot!

Ding!

Allen:

So this is what women feel like when guys ogle their chests.

Girl #4, Sabrina, won't stop looking at that damn stain.

Once she makes eye contact, I can tell her that my youngest son, Shawn, was eating scrambled eggs and the ketchup that he likes to spread and eat with everything, including tomatoes, squirted out of the bottle and hit me right on the chest seconds before I left the house.