The Stuff Legends are Made of

If your a guy, you know the situation. You've played it in your head a thousand times or more. There she is. A girl who is possibly the best looking girl you have ever seen. But there's a problem, you speak two totally different languages. How will you communicate? Where will this relationship go? What happens when you have to go your seperate ways? Is this the "One"? But most importantly to guys, "How do I find a way to start a neutral conversation?" It's almost impossible. You need some freak sway in fate, luck, or divine providence in order to not seem like a creepy weirdo probing for a date. Besides; 99.98% of the time she wouldn't even give you the time of day; even if she was wearing a "Flav-O-Flave" style clock on a gold chain around her neck. But then there's that one time when you get your chance...

So there Colt and I were at the LAX airport. We just got through security and were searching for some great airport food. Burger King was the choice. This was an important BK lounge because it would be me and Colts last journey to Whopperland for a year. So we gallantly stepped in line, ordered, and recieved our food. But the place was packed. Colt and I found an empty table for four and sat down, proud of our skillful orders. I informed Colt that we needed to leave the other two seats open in case other peopled needed somewhere to eat. That's when she walked up. Beautiful at 5'4" with long, trailing, blonde hair. Now some times immature males will "rank" women on an objective, looks-only, 10 point scale. For many of us it's a bell curve. Statistics support this way of looking at any population; its true, most of us our average. Anyway, if you were going to rank her she would have fell in the 99 percentile. Well above two standard deviations from the mean. This girl was in fact, a "10."

She was at the airport with her family about to fly home to France. I had noticed her family earlier because there was a middle-aged blind woman in the group, but I had not seen her at the time. Quick side. Blind people are irristible to stare at. They get around with such ease. And they can't catch you staring at them. Back to the story. The patriarch of the family notices the resteraunt is full and is looking for a place to cache his blind wife while he went to order food. Luckily Colt and I had just the spot. He motioned at our table, as if to ask "can I drop off my blind wife and rediculously hot daughter?" I made the international sign for "sit right here." Here was my chance.

As the girl sits down next to me and her mom next to Colt I thought of a million ways to start the conversation. But my body seemed to falter. I tried to ask a simple question to the French matriarch when my hand shoved another bite of french fries into my mouth. "Hi. Your sitting next to Colt and I'm Paul." "Do you know if the french fry came from France?" "He's not my kid you know." "I'm sorry I don't speak french. But I can show you what French I do know." All these phrases and more rushed through my brain, but my mouth was occupied over and over by a bite of fries. Once again I managed to do what Paul Murphy does best in the situation. Act like the scenary. Another dissapointing day in Paul's life. I'm a moron.

Paul "Somebody shoot me" Murphy