fitting

I can only see her feet from under the changing room door. She’s trying on jeans. We ended up here because the weather got colder than expected. With the store closing at nine-thirty, we pulled into parking at quarter after. We made it just in time. She made quick work of the selection. She had four possibles before I knew what was going on.

I find myself staring at her toes as they hop in and out of each pair without really looking at them. It’s only been seven months and she’s already my favorite. It’s too easy. It’s almost as though things simplify when she’s around. It’s almost disconcerting. I’ve lost control over my affection for her. My being with her is a complete fluke.

She’s goofy. She entertains herself easily. She entertains me constantly, which is unusual. She makes me laugh. Being around her is effortless. She’s easy to talk to. She listens to even the most random of my ramblings. She has yet to make even a subtle effort to push me into her ideal mold. I can’t help but think I’m finally back in the black in my Karma account.

She fits in with my friends. The distance doesn’t seem an obstacle. My parents adore her. Her family is great company. They have stories and commentary that make everything more interesting. Whether it’s friends or family, I’ve received only compliments on what amounts to blind luck.

She steps out sporting the third pair. She glances over at the couch where I’m sitting and her eyes flicker with a smirk. She turns to the mirrors and assesses the fit. She turns back toward the fitting room and kicks her left leg behind her slightly with a small hop. The door closes again behind her. I realize I’m smiling. I can’t help it.

Delectable, desirable, dazzling, delicate, delicious.