“A street festival?  It’s the middle of winter. Isn’t it too cold to be outside at a festival?”

“Not for this one.  It’s under enormous tents and has outdoor heat lamps that line the streets.  You will love it, I promise.  Artisans line the streets and sell their wares. There are antiques you could buy, and up-and-coming artists selling their paintings; it’s lovely.”

“Okay, but I need a huge cup of some sort of sugary caramel coffee to get me through the rest of this morning, maybe even more than one.”

“You do know how unhealthy caffeine is for your body, right?  I’ve read that if you drink more than a cup a day that you can suffer from insomnia, upset stomach, jitters, and a rise in your blood pressure.  It will lead to heart attacks, tooth decay, slower metabolism and has…”

“Okay.  Thank you,” I said cutting him off.  I walked into my room and tried to find something nice to wear for a day outside.  “I guess coffee is my vice then,” I called from my bedroom.  “I used to drink only one cup a day, but for the last few months, I find that I need to make up for the time I spent refraining from it.”

Dressing quickly in a pair of jeans, a form fitting turtleneck sweater and a pair of boots, I walked out to Fran still assaulting me with statistics of the nine rings of hell that you allow your body to go through when drinking coffee.

I practically shoved him out of my door; desperate for the coffee he was trying to forbid me from.

We hopped into his brand spanking new hybrid car and drove for a good forty-five minutes with Fran discussing with himself the benefits of driving a fully hybrid electric car.  I wished I owned a pair of earplugs. Maybe I could find some at the festival.

“…Some people argue that it seems like an odd dichotomy that a hybrid car that has two energy sources could be better for our environment as opposed to a traditional car that has just one.  Now the facts about the hybrid are…”

“STOP! Stop the car!”  I yelped gleefully, making Fran swerve into the shoulder of the road.  “A STARBUCKS!” I pointed happily, bouncing in his tiny electrical shit box of a car.

Driving into the parking lot, he pulled into the first empty space he saw and placed his hand over his heart.  “You almost gave me a heart attack,” he chuckled.  “I really thought something was wrong.”

“Something is wrong,” I winked at him.  “I haven’t had enough caffeine yet.”  Opening the car door, I smiled at him, “Would you like a cup?”

“No, thank you.”  He touched his hand to mine, “Didn’t you understand what I said before about drinking too much coffee.”

I stared at him, confused.  “Yes, I did.”  I blinked my eyes rapidly, trying not to burst out laughing.  “I guess I’m just too far gone into my addiction.  There’s just no saving me.”

I came back into the car with three coffees, putting my lips to each one in turn, and slurping them loudly.  Fran slowly dragged his eyes from me back to his windshield and continued his drive to the street festival he promised to take me to.

Fran was correct about one thing; the street fair was lovely.  Antique shops, small novelty stores and a few bed and breakfasts lined the small cobblestoned main street of the quaint nameless town.  Old, yet well-maintained Victorian homes littered the twisting back roads and when you drove by, the inhabitants offered you a big wave and a friendly smile.  Covered bridges crossed over flowing streams and tents were set up for blocks along the main road of the town, and people milled around laughing and drinking coffee, warm cider, or hot chocolate.

The two of us roamed around the booths. Every once in a while, Fran’s hand made it to the small of my back or his lips found my temple.  Every ten minutes, Fran would stop and take a picture with his phone and post it on instagram and twitter like an obsessed teenager.  I cut him off after he posed me in front of a booth that sold organic clothing and tweeted a picture of me to his 459 followers that said, “Organic socks rock!”

We found a small intimate restaurant and we were just sitting down to grab a drink at the bar before an early dinner or late lunch, whatever you wanted to call it, when in walked Morgan and an extremely distinguished looking older gentleman.  Fran waved them over and offered to share a drink with them, while we waited for our tables since the place was packed. Her faced blanched as the gentlemen she was with agreed, and I looked at her curiously.

He pulled out a chair at the bar for her and she offered a tight smile to us, and a curt serious nod. “This is my husband, Jeremy.”  She looked at him with flushed cheeks and continued with her introductions, “Jeremy, dear, this is Francis and Lainey.  I met them at a small dinner party I was invited to last night, while you were still away on your business trip.”

Well now, wasn’t that just a dick-slap right there?

Morgan gave a brilliantly flirtatious grin at Fran and batted her lashes at him, “Francis, darling, would you mind if I stole your treasure here to accompany me to the restroom?”

Really?  Really now?  She just asked a man for permission to have me accompany her to the bathroom?  Oh, this ought to be awesome.

Fran just waved us away, as he dove into an intense conversation with a seemingly already intoxicated Jeremy about the degradation of our ozone layer and how without its protection, we would all fry up like little eggs on a hot stove.  Then he proceeded to list off all the Organohalogen compounds that we use daily, and which ones were the worst global environmental pollutants for our beloved layer of ozone.

Yes, I think I rather stay in the bathroom with Morgan, instead of listening to his next debate with himself.  Masterdebation.  He should go tweet that.

Once inside the bathroom, she slumped against the wall and covered her face, “Please.  Please don’t say anything to Jeremy.  I know how bad I look, but he’s never home, always away on business, and God, I mean have you seen Kade Grayson?  He’s a perfect specimen of a man.”

I giggled next to her. “Yeah, a perfect sociopath.  Don’t worry, I won’t say anything and I’m no one to judge.”  I opened my purse, took out my lip-gloss, and dabbed a bit on my lips.  “How long have you been married?”

“I’ve been imprisoned for fourteen years,” she laughed.  “Married me right out of high school and promised me the world.  He’s got loads of money and I live in the lap of luxury, but it’s a lonely world.”  She lathered her own lips with a bright fire engine red lipstick, which I would never have the courage to wear.  “So how about you and Francis?”

“We’ve only been on a few dates.  I’m not looking for anything serious, and he’s way too serious,” I answered.

“Kade seemed really taken by you last night.  His eyes were on you all night. He hardly ate his food.”

“Grayson is an ass,” I stated.

“He’s so damaged and dark.  Intense.  I think I like the danger of it,” she said softly.

“Oh, I can definitely see him as one of those dangerous bad ass types,” I laughed.

She gave me a measured stare and giggled, “Don’t knock the alpha male types, they’re delicious.”

“Oh sure,” I laughed.  “There is nothing wrong with bad boys, unless you have self-esteem and confidence.  Then you’re fucked, and you’re smart enough to know you’re fucked.  I know, because I’ve fallen down that dark hole before.”

“Yeah, but, I’ve always loved those dangerous damaged men.  I wonder why, you know?”

“Daddy issues?”  I laughed at my reflection in the mirror, “Mine was mommy issues, really.”  I glanced over at Morgan who was sniffing and staring down at her hands.  I nudged her and smiled. “I think the truth is that we are in love with the fantasy of being that one person who could inspire, arouse, or affect someone who is so untouchable to the rest of the world.  It makes us feel special; like we’re the diamond in the rough, the one in a million, the one that everyone else couldn’t be, and do what everyone else couldn’t do.  Imagine being that significant to someone?  To never have to doubt that he loves you, or needs you, or more importantly, wants you more than any other.”

“I totally agree with you,” a strange small voice said from behind me.

“Yeah, me too.  I’d give a limb to feel like that,” said another voice.

Lifting my eyes to the mirror, I noticed the group of women behind me, nodding their heads in agreement.  I smiled at all of them; we were all striving for that same desire, weren’t we?

“The question is,” a tall, older brunette began, “is that a reality?  Does love like that, desire and passions like that exist?”

Morgan shook her head next to me, “I don’t think so.  If it does, I’ve never felt it.”

Some of the women agreed, some didn’t.  I just shrugged and sighed, “For me, I’ve learned the hard way that I can’t ever expect a man to make me feel that way.  I have to make myself feel that way. I want to be the one person who could inspire, arouse, and affect me.  Because, let’s be honest, no one is going to be with me longer than me.”

The way those women reacted to what I said, I thought I was going to be carried out of that bathroom on their shoulders with them chanting my name.  I had never been more proud of my ovaries and uterus for all of womankind.

Morgan and I walked back to our table laughing with our arms hooked like teenage best friends.  Fran was still on his soapbox, while a slanted Jeremy hovered over a dark amber drink, smiling at the table, and nodding his head.  Fran stopped mid-rant and smiled at me, “There you are. I ordered a red wine for you. I hope that’s okay.”