Watched like a Hawk

I think that I may have lost my one chance at true happiness at life.

How, you ask? Well, it all went down today at brunch. Lauren, Caroline and I went to High Life this afternoon because - yum - have you had their blueberry muffins with strawberry butter? As we sat and ate, I noticed a very cute guy at the table over. (In my defense, he was directly in my line of sight, and Caroline noticed him, too. Poor Lauren had her back to him, although I'm sure she would have noticed him as well had she had the opportunity.) He had dark hair, was very tall, looked kind of Sunday-grunge-but-in-a-cute-way, and a backwards red baseball cap. Also adding to his overall appeal was the fact that he was out to brunch with his parents who were very clearly not from New York. In fact, they looked quite Southern...Mom had a big teal sweater, plaid scarf, and black coat that screamed, "I'm going to New York City to visit my baby boy; I better find the warmest thing I own!" Plus, as Caroline noticed, they were all drinking iced tea.

(Note: We are not stalkers. I promise this is normal Sunday brunch activity for any single 20-something females in New York. Or anywhere else in the world, for that matter.)

I proceeded to comment intermittently throughout our meal, "Y'all, that guy is so cute!" I also began to develop a story: "He's clearly from the South...he must live somewhere around here, which means he lives right near me, and his parents are up visiting for the weekend. He's got to be from Atlanta. In fact, I bet he's from Marietta."

As I was halfway to planning our wedding, I took another look at my new crush and noticed something intriguing..."I think he might be wearing an Atlanta Hawks hat." Now before you knock me for not knowing what an Atlanta Hawks hat looks like, please let me call your attention to the following points - 1. Nobody in Atlanta follows the Hawks. 2. The hat was on backwards. 3. The hat was vintage-y, ie just an old school logo on the front and small cursive writing on the back. The hat was red, though, which I do know to be the color of the Hawks. Also, the logo looked like Pac-Man, which I vaguely remembered to be familiar from the old days of the Hawks. But I wasn't positive, and I couldn't quite make out the cursive letters on the back.

But now I was totally intrigued. Undaunted, at least at this point, I whipped out my iPhone (I knew I had that thing for something) and Googled "Atlanta Hawks logo." Sure enough, on the first page of results, I found this -




Yep, the Pac-Man logo of the Hawks perfectly matched the logo on my crush's hat. I was now fairly certain that it was a Hawks hat, which means that I could deduce with relative certainty that my crush - the guy that I had noticed since he sat down next to us - was not only a total hottie out with his cute "we're-from-out-of-town" parents - he was also from Atlanta. I mean, the Hawks don't exactly have a worldwide following...

At this point, I'm in love. Caroline was insistent that I talk to HH (Hawks Hottie). We discussed the logistics round in round in circles - "Just walk by and casually say, 'Hey, I couldn't help but notice your hat - are you from Atlanta?'" or "Leave your card on the table and ask the waitress to give it to him." It seemed so easy - it's New York, after all - how does anyone meet anyone besides just introducing themselves?

It was not that easy, though. I was paralyzed with fear (as I kept repeating over and over again). It seemed so awkward...and what if it wasn't a Hawks hat...and meeting the parents already, that's a big step...and he's just so cute! Looking for one more push of confidence, I called our waitress over, who we had made friends with earlier. "Hey," I said, "You're waiting on that table, right?" "Yeah..." "Well, we couldn't help but notice how cute that guy is." "Um, yeah, he's really cute." "Totally! Well, I think he's wearing a Hawks hat, and my friends think I should introduce myself to him..." I was floundering...I wasn't quite sure what I wanted our waitress to do, but I knew I couldn't do it without her. She was on board immediately, though - "Hold on a sec. I'll help you out. Let me get a better look at the hat." Nice start. She walked over to his table and subtly (or maybe not) checked out the hat, then reported back, "Yes. It definitely says Hawks." Bingo.

So I'm sitting there - still paralyzed with fear - with my two friends and my waitress cheering me on to talk to HH who is originally from Atlanta but now lives on the Upper East Side and is out to brunch with his iced tea-drinking Southern parents. And I want to talk to him, but I don't, and I think we're probably soul mates, but I don't know what to say, and I'm stressed out, and I'm nervous, and I'm putting on lip gloss, and I know it's my only chance, and I know I'll never see him again otherwise, and I know that I may regret it if I don't say something, but I can't seem to find the words, and...

And that's the end of the story. I warned you of an unhappy ending from the get-go, so don't get mad at me for letting yourself get caught up in the fairy tale. Lauren, Caroline and I stood up, put our jackets on, and walked out of High Life and HH's life forever.

As we stood outside, I began to concoct all of the possible solutions to my utter and complete failure. "Maybe I should just run across the street to my apartment and put on a UGA sweatshirt and Braves hat and jog back over and casually linger outside the restaurant so that when he comes out he'll be like, 'Oh my gosh, are you from Georgia? Me too!'" But that sounded stalkerish, even to me. I consoled myself by saying that if it's meant to be, we will run into each other again someday, When Harry Met Sally or Serendipity style. But in my heart I knew....the fleeting opportunity of total lifelong bliss with HH had passed me by.

And that's how I lost my one chance at true happiness in life over blueberry muffins with strawberry butter.