Do you know that feeling? The one that tugs at your heart so violently that it steals a part of your soul? It’s when you’re waddling through your local Wal-Mart, hoping to grab the last of the $1.99 gallon jars of Vlassic Pickles, and then you see her. You see her messy hair bun and mom jeans, the Cheeto dust rouge covering her face and fingers, that single, little dead tooth poking past her overbite that the braces could just never fix. You’re heart stops, but it isn’t a heart attack this time.
Her muffin top makes you hungry. You reach out for the pickles, and she does the same. Your hands meet. She says “Excuse me.” You’re lost in her eyes, or at least the one that isn’t lazy. Her smell is invigorating: an aroma of old split-pea soup, patchouli, and cigarette ash. She must live with her mother. She’s a family gal. A little exasperated breath escapes her as she waits for your response. She had hot dogs for lunch.
You take your hand away so she doesn’t feel your sweat, even though it coats your face. “All yours,” you say. She doesn’t flash a smile, but a look of bewilderment. Your interest perturbs her, but you both know something’s being shared. The pickles could be shared. A fart is heard. She clutches the jar to her chest and sprints towards the register. You want to chase her, but it’s too soon. There’s another way.
Do you know that feeling? The South does.
Dorothy Gambrell put together this “handy” map of the most popular locales for missed romantic connections on Craigslist. I don’t know who this is going, or trying, to help, but apparently Cupid enjoys taking target practice at Wal-Mart. And people in Indiana are either down with incest or home invasion.