I was out with Christa today having a girls' day out basically. We started with lunch at that Asian buffet I mentioned awhile back - Aroma - and then did some shopping (Christa need to hunt down a notebook) before catching Les Misérables. It was a pretty great movie - Anne Hathaway and Hugh Jackman deserve Oscars for their performances and my only complaints were that EVERYTHING was sung with only one or two exceptions and, oh yeah, did we REALLY need to hear the body crack as it fell from the bridge and into the Seine? No, I don't think so.
It was just around 6:30PM when the movie let out and, since I needed new black dress pants given that the ones I brought along are too big now, we opted to head back into the mall to try our luck. It wasn't easy; London fashion is big on skinny cuts (which, ew, no thanks, aren't my thing) so it's like going for water in the desert to dig up some boot cut. We found them. Finally. At H&M. And I also got a pretty nice black blazer too. Came to £45 altogether. Not a bad score.
And this is the weird part, which you should know has a witness should it be so required. I went to the cash and said hi to the cashier just like I always do. The cashier was a guy, about my age, none too shabby in the looks department. Small talk while he rang up my purchases and I paid went like this:
Me: Hi, how are you?...and then he gave me his number and we exchanged names. Turns out his is Damian. I have no idea how that happened. My hair was in PIGTAILS for crying out loud. But it did. It happened. There was a witness. I nearly fainted. I think I may be in shock.
Him: Pretty good, how about you?
Me: Peachy keen. So your weekend's going alright?
Him: Can't complain. Much. Yours? What have you been doing?
Me: Oh, well, you know, the usual: lunch, movie, shopping. Having a girls' day out pretty much.
Him: Are you two sisters?
Me: Nope, friends.
Him: Ah, well, what's next on your plan then?
Me: I think this will be about it.
Him: Doesn't sound like you had too bad a day. Next time you should bring me along.
Me: Give me your number and I'll see what I can do.
After that, we checked out a bookstore (I finally spent the gift card my roommate got me for Christmas on The Princess Bride and Emma) and then grabbed a small supper at Burger King. We made a pit stop at Sainbury's on our way back to the Tube station - I needed to stock up on some groceries - and that was it. I was back at the house around 11PM.
What the heck do I do with the freaking phone number?! Do I call? Do I text? What's the etiquette on timing this sort of thing? Do I go for casual convo? Ask him out for coffee? Pretend this never happened and move on? Can we go back to the days where people just mingled incessantly each and every night at one ball or another until something clicked? GAH!