Next time I'll ask to borrow a cup of sugar

There’s a guy in our building who we have deemed “hot guy” for obvious and superficial reasons. He exudes the tall, dark and handsome ivy-league banker vibe. He also smokes and may or may not have a lady friend, which is why we admire him from a safe distance of three floors. No amount of good looks can cover up those two red-flags, we have enough good sense between the three of us to know that much at least. Look but don’t touch.

It never fails that one or a combination of the three of us always sees Hot Guy when we are either just waking up and running out on a quick errand, carrying arms full of groceries or pizza boxes, coming home sweaty and gross from the gym or the park, or in any other state of unawares the universe can come up with.

Usually makeup-less un-showered, un-manicured and unfit for public exposure. Pretty much any girl’s nightmare when seeing a guy she doesn't know very well.

I was on the phone walking home from work and the gym the other night, when I spied Hot Guy walking 10 paces in front of me. “Perfect,” I thought as I admired him in his gray pinstripe suit, “he won’t see me THIS time.”

As he rounded the corner to our walk-up, I kept moving to the next block to pick up my laundry. Enjoying the fact that it was Friday and that I had avoided another unappealing run-in with Hot Guy, I was dumbfounded when no sooner had I pulled out my keys in front of my front door than I saw the very same polished black loafers I had been admiring staring back at me on my front steps.

Slowly looking up at the face I already knew I would see, all I could do was smile half-heartedly, gulp in the most lady-like way possible, and say my usual, groundbreaking “hi”. He smiled his usual bad-boy banker smile, returned the pleasantry, and still in his suit he stepped down the stairs to have a cigarette. Typical.

Also typical that when we left the apartment a few hours later, dressed exceptionally well to meet friends down on the LES for dinner, he was nowhere to be found.

I think we’re all convinced he would not recognize us fresh-faced in the morning, hair blown-out and ready to conquer another day at the office, or under any other circumstance under which we would otherwise look presentable.

Life would be way too easy if that were the case.

"Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously.... Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us."
-Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, 1811