Mr. Vanilla

I'm sitting next to the window, at Bridge House Coffee in Delano, MN.

I'm wearing a white turtle-necked sweater and jersey knit leggings, with warm socks and short boots. 

Carefully sipping on my latte, I can feel all 10 toes are quite cozy. 

As I stare off to my right, I'm watching the snow outside slowly clothe the naked trees. And I'm smiling thinking about a dream I had. It was one of those dreams you tell yourself you will remember in the morning. 

I met a boy. 

But he was anything but boyish. 

The dream started off in Central Park. I couldn't see any butterflies outside, but as this boy walked closer to me, I realized they were all dancing in my stomach. 

Ladies, have you ever seen a man and had a hard time looking away? This guy was absolutely gorgeous. I'm sure my jaw even dropped, as I was sleeping. 

He was wearing shorts and a t-shirt and looked very comfortable in his skin. His smile was incredibly genuine. And as he stood next to me, I remember his shirt looking - so soft. He also had tattoos. (Sips hot latte). His whole left arm was covered in them. I know there are roughly six hundred and thirty-nine muscles in the human body, and this guy clearly understood how to shape and sculpt every-single-one of them. 

(I just burnt my tongue)

All of a sudden it was dark. We were still in the park, but we were laying over the grass on a blanket. We opened up our Lonely Blondes, which magically appeared in our hands, and I remember feeling thrilled he kissed me first. For some reason, I felt safe around him. And I enjoyed his company - very much.

Then we were sitting outside at a restaurant, and I was struggling to eat sushi. Even in dreams, I'm still not solid with chopsticks. He was telling me about a trip to Japan, and I visioned traveling there. After he asked me about work, I begin to speak, but my voice was gone. My mouth and lips were moving, but there was no sound traveling forward. 

Don't you hate when that happens in dreams? I got frustrated but realized I am a very good listener. So he filled the silence with more stories of his adventures. 

I love to listen.

"Would you like another latte, miss?" Asks the barista, interrupting my thoughts. "Yes I would, thank you. And please add a shot of vanilla."

A good friend once told me he knew drinking coffee wasn’t the healthiest choice but said it’s more about the emotional connection. The emotional connection between you and your warm cup of comfort.

I recently started exploring the world of coffee, and I see the appeal.

But back to the dream. 

I'm not exactly sure how this was brought up, but I remember telling him I wasn't good at dating. 

Planning is a strength and a weakness for me, and with dating, there's so much uncertainty - it makes my heart anxious.

(Smiles at her cup)

Now he's wearing a black & white checkered button-down; and I'm in a cream short sleeve shirt from Express, covered by a green jacket I wished was warmer. We are in my white Range Rover and it's still dark. I remember staring at his arms; his biceps were about ready to jump out of his shirt.

This was when I realized he was not a good kisser. 

He was an amazing kisser. 

I remember him saying he thought of himself as "vanilla", and I laughed and wholeheartedly disagreed. 

One of Google's definitions for vanilla is: having no special or extra features; ordinary or standard.

I'm not sure why, but this boy gave me energy. He had an aura about him that made me feel calm, yet extremely excited. 

He was warm.

He was kind.

He was a gentleman.

And this man, in my dream, inspired me.

And he was anything but vanilla.

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