5.30.2011

hidden pleasures


The Tourist Club

When I was a kid, I had a giant stuffed snail whose shell contained a secret opening where I hid some of my most prized possessions. I still remember the five-year old high I felt when I realized I could fit my New Kids on the Block buttons, best stickers and scented eraser inside that snail and no one would be the wiser. To this day, few things evoke the kind of hand-clapping excitement I experience when I find a hidden pocket in my purse or someone takes me somewhere without a marked entrance. Even better if the entrance is unassuming enough to make me wonder if I've been brought there to be Dexter-ed.

Kill room or not, if it’s off the beaten path or reveals something unexpected, I want to know about it. In fact, I'll probably love it more than it deserves. Like boys with speech impediments, which is a story for another day. That sentiment got me thinking about what it is that makes something truly wonderful. And I think it's that there’s always an element of surprise.

One evening while living in New York, a man smiled at me just as we crossed paths. I continued in the opposite direction, but a few minutes later he ran up behind me (in a very non-threatening/non-crazy way, thank god) and said, “Excuse me, miss?” “Hi, yes?” “You’re really pretty. You probably have a boyfriend, but i just wanted to tell you that if he ever screws it up, you should call me.” Then he handed me his number on a scrap of paper, told me to have a great night and walked away. How’s that for a pleasant surprise? Especially when you think you’re about to have your purse snatched. I never called him. He could have been a murderer! But i’ll always remember his face and how his unexpected gesture made me feel.

When it comes to people, I think it's the unanticipated qualities that deeply bond us to them, too. Don’t get me wrong, sharing a passion for cycling or having the same taste in music is nice. It’s really nice. But finding out, for example, that someone has an astonishing talent for drawing transsexual zoo animals (you know, in addition to also being a really nice person) is something that has the power to make the heart go pitter-patter long after the thunderbolt of lust or an almost identical iTunes library ceases to move us. It’s the things that sneak up on us that make people, places, or even the tiny pocket so thoughtfully sewn into your sports bra to carry your house key, so wonderfully, surprisingly extraordinary. Or maybe it’s just me.

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