And by unbelievable, I mean embarassing.
So, there's this cafe I go to in the mornings to get my cappuccino. I won't lie, I am ever so slightly motivated not only by the excellent coffee made by the lovely woman with the best hair ever, but by the gorgeous and dapper owner of the place, Francis.
Francis - whose name I didn't actually know until this morning - is always so perfectly styled. So individual. So fodder for Scott Schuman. And his smile is pure excellence. It brings out more than just a few, ahem, unclean thoughts.
Whatever. I'm married, not dead.
Today, for the first time, I get up the nerve to say to him - blather-like - Um, so sorry to bother you at work but, um, my name is Kristin and I write this fashion blog and I think you always look so fabulous. I mean, you are fabulous. I mean your clothes are fabulous and you wear them so well and your smile - I love your smile with that cap you're wearing. Um, can I take your picture for my blog.
Actually, I wasn't this articulate, but you get the vibe.
The only problem is that I forgot my camera phone this morning. I never forget the phone. Ever. Not because of the phone feature but because of the camera. And I fucking forgot it.
Digging through your bag like a nut while trying to look cool after inarticulately complimenting a sexy guy and asking to take his picture is, well, like some subplot on 30 Rock.
Perhaps the only thing that could have made it more uncomfortable was me following it up with: "Honestly, I'm so not trying to pick you up. See, I'm married!" Then holding up my left hand and realizing I'd also forgot my wedding ring...