Mortar and pestle

For a brief moment on Saturday night, I believed I had met the guy I was destined to cheat on my husband with.

I was working a fairly late shift, training in PRC (Produce/Refrigerated/Cheese), and had just dropped some boxes off at the baler (giant cardboard crushing machine - so much fun), when I turned to find myself confronted by an attractive young man with a goatee, who couldn't have been more than 5'7", which, as we know, makes him totally my type.

"How old are you?" he asked me.

I guess I thought nothing of the forwardness of his question, because I dutifully answered in turn. "Twenty-five."

"Sweet, [New Guy] owes me a dollar. We made a bet on how old you were, and he said you couldn't be more than 18 or 19, but I guessed early twenties..."

"Shouldn't it be my dollar, then?" I asked. "Since 25 is really more like mid-twenties, and therefore you were both wrong."

He laughed, refused, and walked back into the dairy box. I could tell my quick wit had totally impressed him.

(An aside: Trader Joe's is really a bit of a boys' club. Most girls who start there weed themselves out within the first couple weeks because, as one of my female trainers so eloquently put it, "they can't hack it." Physically, yes - there is a lot of heavy lifting involved and thank God for my years of Cas Anon Sex - but I'm guessing they can't quite keep up with the banter, either, girls being easily offended as we are. But honey, believe you me, I can give as good as I get.)

A few hours later, I was restocking bread when the same guy poked his head out from between rows of yogurt and asked if I wouldn't rather help him in the dairy box.

"No way - too cold," I said. Because I know this weekend was ridiculously hot, but let's face it, when it comes to climates in which milk can avoid going off, I am just a girl.

"What are you talking about? It's perfect in here!" he insisted.

Another guy walking by grinned at me and said, "Don't mind him; he's Irish."

Irish managed to spark up conversation with me a few more times during our shift, saying how he and a friend were going to TGI Friday's to get a beer after work, and since his friend was getting off half an hour earlier than he was, he was going to go save a table and order Irish his beer so it would be there when he got to the restaurant. "But he's not going to order it too early," he added, "because I'm not drinking warm beer."

"Why not? I thought you were Irish."

And so I found out that he was actually born in Ireland and moved here when he was eight; we talked about the superiority of Dublin-brewed Guinness, and he gave me a high-five when I told him that yes, I do know what an Irish Car Bomb is, and actually really like them; I mentioned that my husband was Welsh, and he said he'd have to meet him; and before I left the store, he told me that I'd better meet him and his friend at Friday's, with or without Lui in tow.

Fortunately for me, because I never would've been allowed to go out drinking with some guys I'd just met on my own, Lui was down for the adventure. So after he got home from babysitting (which gave me enough time to shower, change, and reapply just enough makeup to make it look like I hadn't), we headed over to TGI Friday's. I walked in first and took the seat next to Irish, who was a little surprised, but genuinely pleased we'd shown up. He and Lui hit it off as well, talking about Premiership Football and cars. And there were several more instances where I impressed him with my ability to back-talk, once even prompting him to dub me his "new favorite," after which he turned to the friend he'd come with and said, "No offense - you can still be second."

But then we all got to know each other a little better, and I learned that he's 21, making him ineligible in accordance with Elle's First Commandment of Dating: Thou shalt not date anyone younger than thy brother. And then, when Lui and the friend were talking about something on their side of the table, Irish turned to me and asked how long we'd been married.

"Almost two months - we don't even have the pictures back yet."

"Wow, congratulations," he said. "I was with my girlfriend for seven years, and then we were engaged for about a month when, seven months ago, she passed away in a car accident."

What do you say to that? He's handling it incredibly well - doesn't want sympathy but admitted he still has some bad days, but is generally just trying to get on with his life. And, he admitted, he's not ready to date yet. (It didn't stop him from flirting with the waitress, but then I guess, it hadn't really stopped him from flirting with me either. And I'm married, but that didn't stop me from flirting with him. So there's that.)

So with that quick drop back to reality, despite all the obvious chemistry, I had to admit I probably haven't met the guy I'm going to cheat on my husband with. But still, it's nice to have a friend at my new job. And, I have to admit, it's even nicer to have a crush. I mean, it's been so long...