For the guy who threw an egg at me from his car window.

Hey. Thanks for coming.
You know, I haven't ever done one of these before,
and I didn’t know whether you'd show up,
so I'm glad I recognized you.

I mean, you were exactly like your description said you’d be—
Big black sports car,
muscular ego,
really good aim.

And I'm glad, because I hate when people advertise themselves as something they're not
and then you meet them in person and are disappointed.
It's why I don't wear makeup. So you always know that what you see
is pretty much what you get. That's why my description reads:

Skin—inclined towards bruising.
Hair for days—of face hiding.
Big, giant—self-consciousness that you can really grab with both hands.
I'm glad we're both honest.

Look, I know it’s past my bedtime,
and a nice girl like me probably shouldn’t be out on the street but
if you get to know me better, you'll find my eye-lashes are the most stubborn part of me.
They love late night haunts, wouldn’t trade them for all the pillows in the world.
Plus, if I was at home right now,
this street corner never would have served its purpose:
the perfect spot for this rendez-vous.
You—tall, dark and speeding.
Me—bottomless pit of bad reflexes.
What a perfect match.

I wish I had had more time to prepare,
I could have gotten dressed up for the occasion.
Now I'm embarrassed, really,
that you put in so much effort, and here I am
wearing nothing but an easy target.