Two hour notice

This scheming lady called Mudraka decided to take matters in her own hands. I would have not been labeled “stalker” in my early years if it weren’t for my reputation of stalking boys I had a crush on in high school and getting their vital information their sweethearts did not know about (i.e. parents’ names, siblings, ambition, definition of love – don’t ask, it sucks.). It’s time to put the old charm to work.

Two weeks after I visited Good Guy in his museum and rubbed elbows with people whose names I only read about online, I sent him a text message inviting him to watch a movie with me in two hours. (Brushing his teeth and travel time were included in the calculation). But not without a bribe that said "It's free".

Good Guy quickly jumped on the free movie trap. In less than two hours, we were at the cinema lobby.

He looked tired and sleepy and crumpled all over. I felt guilty about breaking his siesta just to watch Indiana Jones with me leaving him with not much time to put on his make-up (hehe). Actually, Good Guy is not exactly your kind of metrosexual guy who sprays Axe on himself to attract flies. It no longer surprises me whenever goes around wearing whatever shirt or pants he could grab from his closet, walks on his extra large slippers and carries with him a backpack like an Abu Sayyaf alerting mall security with suspicion.

It was the first time he saw me with a make-up on, wearing jeans and a girly blouse. None of those intimidating corporate attire that often made me look like his mother. This was a deliberate change in tactic – act weak, act girly. I guess that made him go blink blink in a funny way when he saw me from across the lobby. He probably failed to guess what actually hit me...or him.

I bought the tickets, he volunteered to buy food. Gentleman, eh. Thank goodness, he has quit taking Boy Bawang to the movies. (Woo-hoo! An upgrade!) While waiting in line, we talked about a lot of things from my bad singing to his blossoming career. And he gave me something. It was a book I was borrowing from him.

While watching the movie, we were busy nibbling on our chips, whispering trivias in between "Did you know this sequel cost blah blah?" and rolling our eyes each time someone burst out a gut of laughter.

After the movie, he asked if I enjoyed it and I said the worst line ever, "Yes. Is the LRT still open?"

Where the heck did that come from?

I should have said "Hey, let's have coffee and talk about what a wrinkled Harrison Ford is doing in the 2008 sequel." But words escaped me. I left my heart and brains at the cinema, probably in one of those empty popcorn buckets.

I really do have this nasty habit of saying the wrong things at the wrong place and time. So we said our quick goodbyes and parted ways at the gate. I didn't even try to look back. I really should have. But for some insane reason like pride, I didn't.

Arrrgh!