Why I Pick Up Furniture Off the Street (And I'm Not Ashamed)

I met someone, and not in the made-for-TV-movie kind of way. In the real, When Harry Met Sally kind of way. Our first encounter was just outside their home. They were lounging in the sun, looking fine, as I drove by. We then eyed each other a few more times that same day as I drove back and forth on my usual route. It was not unlike checking someone out in the grocery store; my inner monologue racing, “Are they right for me? Are they interested? Do I approach?” It wasn’t until my evening drive home that I knew I had to go for it. If I didn’t, I could lose the chance at something special, something that could turn out to be everything. So when I reached the familiar address, I pulled over, opened my car door, placed two feet on the ground (heart racing), and approached.