My Yellow Socks

It was a crisp cool morning in February and love was n the air. Saturday, February 9th to be exact.  Valentines just a few days away.  I had just finished my morning 10 mile walk to Santa Monica pier and was settling into my next morning ritual of a warm cup of vanilla latte from the Coffee Bean located on Wilshire Blvd. It was the only exception I had allowed myself to participate in since my strict diet had begun in November. This is when I was accepted into the rehabilitation program at the Domiciliary of West Los Angeles Veterans Administration Hospital. When I had arrived and checked in for treatment for my PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) and Drug Addiction, I had vowed to reinvent myself completely. The goal was simple: “Change Everything” Physically, Mentally and Spiritually. For my first few months I had struggled some with the Mental and Spiritual part of the plan but had exceeded most of my Physical goals. I had lost 46 lbs. in 70 days and I must say at 6’2” and 200 lbs. I was far more prepared for this Valentine’s Day than ever before.

I was just getting my iPad set up and adjusting my seat to where I could comfortably relax and enjoy my perfectly made latte in a real mug and browse some inspirational videos on YouTube, when I noticed her out of the corner of my eye. She was beautiful, a fit middle-aged goddess of seemingly Middle Eastern decent. My guess was Persian. She was adorned with expensive work out clothes that formed to her exquisite figure flawlessly and based on the neatly rolled yoga mat placed at her feet and her long hair pulled back into a pony tail, I deduced that she had just came from the yoga studio next door.

As I continued sipping on my now warm latte, I could not stop sneaking glances in her direction. She was perfect and despite my increased heartbeat and seemingly hopeless situation of residing in a homeless rehabilitation center, my addict mind said “Paul, you definitely have a chance.” YEP! Full on denial of facts. I told myself all I needed now was to formulate a plan to break the ice and introduce myself to my next wife.

I had started putting together my “Amazingly Cool” lines like “Hi, I was worried about you after that obvious fall from heaven.” Or “Hi, nice yoga mat.” When she out of the blue started to walk towards my corner of the room. My heart rate doubled, and I started to sweat as my mind switched immediately to “Why is she coming over here and what did I do wrong?”  My mind went blank, we made eye contact and she smiled. I quickly regrouped, forcefully swallowed another now cold sip of latte and said to myself “Okay Paul you’ve got this.” 

As my mind came back online, I quickly put together the most positive outcome of that could come from this encounter, again speaking to myself “She had seen me working out over the last couple of months, noticed my weight loss and was coming over to compliment me on my hard work and tell me I look Great!” 

She spoke “Hi,”and as if the heavens had parted and I had met my glorious end, I was sucked into a vacuum of blissfulness where church bells were ringing, birds were singing, and everything was beautiful. “She liked me!” I confidently concluded, but before I could impress her with my “Amazingly Cool” lines, she interrupted my carefully constructed vacuum of blissful ego with: 

“WHY ARE YOU WEARING THOSE CRAZY YELLOW SOCKS?”

“WHAT?” I thought. No compliments on my appearance and hard work? How could this be? All she noticed was my socks? This Sucks, I thought immediately, not seeing the obvious and being grateful that she had broken the ice and spared my ego inevitable devastation by me not having to use one of those corny pick-up lines.

 So, in disgust and hope of regaining ego points, I replied in an arrogant tone: “It’s a long story.” I thought this would turn her around in her tracks and spare me some unwanted embarrassment but to my surprise she did not. Instead she sat down across from me and said “Okay, I’ll bite but it better be a good one, as bright as those crazy socks are.”

I embarrassingly laughed and said, “My name is Paul would you like another cup of coffee?” She said “Yes, and my name is Monica.”

 Over the next couple of hours, I shared with her the story of “MY YELLOW SOCKS!”

Cowboy Beach Bum