Dangerous Stranger
Hmm. The Husband was off on a business trip today (which he does at least once a month), so I brought him to the airport. As I exited the passenger seat to tell him goodbye and enter the driver's seat, my eyes met those of a man casually standing outside the international terminal. He returned my look with slitted eyes. A quick appraisal of him, and I saw he was in a sharp suit, briefcase by his side, calmly smoking a cigarette. He was older. Actually looked slightly like a taller, quite a bit more handsome Putin--better lips, less wrinkles, but with that same cunning face and thin blond hair. I closed the door and glimpsed at him again. He continued to study me.
I met The Husband at the trunk of the car, playfully told him as he removed his luggage that I hoped he would be in a better mood when he returned (He's been so cranky lately!), glanced at the mysterious man, and found him still eyeing me closely, taking another smooth drag on his cigarette.
I kissed and held my husband for a moment, told him I loved him as we parted, quickly looked at the shadowy man once more, and found his cool gaze still examining me--absolutely no expression on his part except intense scrutiny.
I quickly climbed into the car and--I couldn't help it--stole a glimpse at him yet again. And again, the steely gaze, a pull on his cigarette.
I backed up the car a bit to prepare to pull into the exiting traffic, and what could I do but look once more? This time he gave the slightest of smiles as he breathed in on his cigarette, watching me . . . and I laughed, giving him a big, silly grin as I drove away.
Yeah. I wish I could have been a bit more mysterious and cool myself, but . . . Well, to be honest, I was completely enthralled! He was every bit my image of an East German or Russian spy at the height of the Cold War. I couldn't shake the vague dangerous thrill I felt as I left.
I don't know. I feel quite guilty that, as The Husband departed, I was distracted by an enigmatic stranger. I rather suspect I should be horribly ashamed.
I met The Husband at the trunk of the car, playfully told him as he removed his luggage that I hoped he would be in a better mood when he returned (He's been so cranky lately!), glanced at the mysterious man, and found him still eyeing me closely, taking another smooth drag on his cigarette.
I kissed and held my husband for a moment, told him I loved him as we parted, quickly looked at the shadowy man once more, and found his cool gaze still examining me--absolutely no expression on his part except intense scrutiny.
I quickly climbed into the car and--I couldn't help it--stole a glimpse at him yet again. And again, the steely gaze, a pull on his cigarette.
I backed up the car a bit to prepare to pull into the exiting traffic, and what could I do but look once more? This time he gave the slightest of smiles as he breathed in on his cigarette, watching me . . . and I laughed, giving him a big, silly grin as I drove away.
Yeah. I wish I could have been a bit more mysterious and cool myself, but . . . Well, to be honest, I was completely enthralled! He was every bit my image of an East German or Russian spy at the height of the Cold War. I couldn't shake the vague dangerous thrill I felt as I left.
I don't know. I feel quite guilty that, as The Husband departed, I was distracted by an enigmatic stranger. I rather suspect I should be horribly ashamed.