The worst at letting go: me.  I met a man for all of 20 minutes today and helped him shop for some shirts.  Thankfully, shopping with people is actually my job, so all awkwardness was avoided.

And thankfully, all awkwardness was actually avoided.  He was the best.  The best at being good looking and charming.  “Can you check what size shirt I’m wearing?”  Oh, definitely.  I will stand on my tip toes and read the inside label of the softest shirt I never sold you.  It was the perfect, most classic set up.  The perfect shop girl moment.

He was the best at pretending to be preoccupied with buying shirts, but actually content to rest his hand on the counter and be intriguing.  I saw his interest click as soon as I let it slip that I only sell shirts and jeans part time and spend the majority of my time teaching high schoolers to sing.  Some people really dig that.  This was it: the click.  He, himself, was an educator of sorts.  College level baseball coaches are certainly considered educators to me.  And I could see by the tiniest grey line above his ear, we might actually be in the same age bracket.  Potential: met.

Since he was passing time at the mall waiting for his game that night, I casually asked for a start time.  He said I could come and cheer his team.  You’re new to town, so I’m sure you haven’t formed a bond with anyone on your team yet.  You can cheer for us, he said.  I gave him an official good luck, which I hoped he knew meant that I was coming and cheering for him and hoping for a drink after, and then he left.

That’s all you get in 20 minutes and three shirts.

After that it’s just: dragging friends to a three-hour baseball game, feeling bad for dragging people out when I know nothing’s going to happen, and trying to make up for it by being “extra” funny but actually being annoying, and then eventually letting go.  Eventually.  Which I am terrible at.  Was that today or two years ago?