For the past two weeks, I’d bragged non-stop about my culinary abilities without realizing my co-worker, who had stayed humble, was a lot better at cooking than I was.
I’m angry and frustrated, more so than I am hurt.
Like a broken record, his words replayed over and over again in my mind.
“You’re going to wear it. I don’t care what you think — I don’t want to hear any more of this.”
My hands are shaking; I’m nervous, even though I shouldn’t be.
I’m on the skytrain in Bangkok, on my way home from lunch, and I see a girl wearing the prettiest shoes ever.
I hesitate for at least five minutes, but when I realize my stop is approaching, it’s now or never. I have to ask or I’ll regret it.