He walked into the coffee shop, tortoise shell-rimmed glasses in one perfectly-manly hand and 600-pages of a Charles Dickens’ classic in his other. The cover of the book looked like an old library edition of ‘A Tale Of Two Cities’. He ordered a soy latte.
“Gosh! So perfect,” I thought. “I wonder if he’ll stay for another cuppa, if he does, I will ask him something that sounds intelligent about the book he’s reading; just to make conversation.”
He sat down by the window with the natural light making him look even more handsome. He rested his glasses on the rugged spine of Dickens and positioned the ivory mug precisely to its side.
The sun, the steamy java enveloping his face, the thoughtful eyes sunken on his annoyingly perfect face, the generously calming smile; it was all too perfect to be true.
Then he took his iPhone out, framed the poetic setting, clicked, set a filter, posted to Instagram and left.
(… Thank you, technology for single-handedly ruining my prospective love life.)