So, there I was today. Waiting for a table at a trendy restaurant in Lincoln Road Mall, when I spied a tall, blond dude to my side, all alone.
When the hostess asked who was waiting for a single table, he and I both went "Me/I am!", raising our hands reflexively to indicate a number 1. Being right-handed, I did so with my right. But he was left-handed.
Curiously, he was wearing a watch on his left wrist, which is unusual for a southpaw.
And when he raised his hand, what did I see but this:
The IWC Classic Big Pilot, 5004, I believe - yes?
GORGEOUS.
On a custom-made brown pilot strap.
Being a flirtatious little thing, I flashed my pearly whites, and actually tapped the crystal (gen sapphire for sure), and said, "Nice IWC". Big saucy smile.
You know what he said?
Without a hint of a reciprocal smile, "Thanks", in a heavy Teutonic accent. Silence.
Didn't even ask about my Franck Muller Crazy Hours, lying so bodaciously on my dainty wrist.
Crashed and burned. Ouch.