Oh hey. Let's go on a date. We'll pop into our favorite indie bookshop and quote Pablo Neruda to each other, then we'll dash across the rainy street to that artisinal espresso bar. You'll squeal with delight over the latte art (I'll request a heart in your foam) and we'll gaze dreamily into each others eyes as the starving screenwriters type angstily around us. Oh and by the way, I like your pants.
Oh hey. Let's go on a date. The flea market awaits. You'll try on floppy, oversized hats and bug-eyed 70's sunglasses while I marvel at Civil War-era rifles. I'll win your affection with my killer bargaining skills ($5 for that medicine bottle! Highway robbery!) and you'll let me wipe butter off your chin when we eat at the corn-on-the-cob stand across from the taxidermy booth.
Oh hey. Let's go on a date. Anywhere esoteric will do: art gallery, art museum, art lecture. I'll wear khaki and black. You wear black and khaki. We'll pretend we didn't plan it. Important questions will arise as we study the art. Is this art? What is art? Then it will all fall apart when I admit that frankly I'd rather go roller skating or shopping at Hot Topic. And thank goodness, you feel the same.
Oh hey. Let's go on a date. This morning the groundhog saw his shadow which means six more weeks of winter, but at least we can hold hands and skip with spring in our steps. I'll treat you to an ice cream sundae with hot fudge sauce (you want to go halfsies? I get it, you're an independent woman) and can I sneak a kiss in between bites? 'Cause that would warm me top to toes indeed.
Images: Club Monaco Spring Collection 2012