Windy days and tea shops

I think the tea shop worker has a bit of a crush on me.

It is not just that he complemented my t-shirt when I walked past the counter. It is more than he gives me a big nervous smile when he comes by to refill my water, stammering out questions about whether the fan was interfering with my reading, and I accidentally catch his eye as I glance around the room on more than one occasion.

To be truthful, I find the whole thing a little endearing, and a little reassuring. He thinks I'm cute enough to be nervous about in the same outfit I was wearing when, earlier, happy to be freed of another day wearing my professional pants, I declared "Being a slob is highly underrated!" Even better, he thinks I'm cute enough to be awkwardly nervous about, rather than to cockily and drunkenly stammer towards-- which, no matter how much time elapses between bar trips, seemingly remains the predominant mating dance of the 20-something.

(Although, to be fair, someone did recently shout "Babe-raham Lincoln" at me whilst pedaling by on their bike, sans helmet I wasn't sure whether to be flattered, offended, or just shamelessly impressed by his Wayne's World quoting ability.)

As I was getting a little stir crazy from my first whole work-from-home-day in months, the Duke essentially commanded me to leave the house that evening, and finally enter the 200+ varieties of tea shop a ten minute walk away from us.

He is a smart boy sometimes (see: picking me). Pina colada tea (note: best idea ever) and an honest-to-God-fiction-book-that-is-in-no-way-related-to-my-dissertation make for a great way to clear one's head. What this mini-excursion really reminded me of, though, is how much I miss walking.

In my old neighbourhood, I took to wandering as a simple way to clear my head. Sometimes I took my camera, sometimes my iPod, and sometimes it was just me and my feet. My new neighbourhood, on the surface, appears too functional for such endeavours I walk to the overpriced grocery store, the coffee shop, the bus stop, my friend's apartment. I never just walk.

As I stroll down the street home, I think about all the silly details I miss by only walking to reach a destination, by keeping my sunglasses and headphone on at all times to shelter me from the world. Like how invigorating it feels to have the wind blow your hair perfectly away from your face. Or the parked bus emblazoned with the name Buttercup. Or the piles of cherry blossoms. Or the man singing to himself.

It's good to get out of your apartment and out of your head sometimes.