"Imagine This" & Snogging

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Imagine This

I'm on my way to see another West End musical, a new one, called Imagine This. The night is cold, but refreshing, and the streets are packed with shoppers and people who are glad for a weekend. I stop at a bookstore to browse. (Bookstores are addicting, I tell you! I could spend HOURS!)

I walk out of the bookstore with Barack Obama's second book, The Audacity of Hope, which is the number one bestseller in the UK right now. I feel proud of my president-elect and curious about some more of his ideas. I read while I wait for the show to start.

Imagine This is set in 1942 in Polish ghetto. The openning song is happy, celebrating the bounties of life and an everyday people's simple pleasures. The song ends with gunshots, Nazis beating people and shoving them into a crowded truck, an announcement on a loudspeaker telling the Jews that they must wear a star and live where they're told to live. Tears stream down my cheeks. How can mankind do that to one another?

Within the ghetto, to pass the time, the man who has stepped up as the leader decides to put on a play for the local community. The storyline of the play, although set in Jerusalem during the Roman Empire, falls into a neat parallel with what's happening in Europe. The characters take inspiration from the suffering and courage of the characters they play. And a young man and girl fall in love.( Of course, I'm a sap for a love story.)

After the show, I'm a crying, emotional mess.

My Aftershow Encounter

I'm not ready to leave the city yet, so I stroll along past the Covent Garden tube station and see a man holding a sign that reads, "Everything is OK." He is standing on a ladder, preaching loudly, saying things that make no sense. A small group of people stand around, staring up at him.

I go inside the nearest pub and buy myself a beer. I strike up a conversation with a good-looking guy, but he acts all nervous and then leaves. I roll my eyes, British men. They're ridiculous.

Sipping my beer, I join the gathering around the ladder. "Don't believe anyone, including me!" the man is shouting from the ladder.

"What is this guy, an evangelist or something?" I ask the man standing next to me.

He looks at me and says, "I have no idea. I'm trying to figure that out." Hey, this man is kinda cute.

"That could be dangerous," I laugh.

"So what's an Irish girl doing in London alone on a Friday night?" he asks me.

I look around, like maybe he was talking to someone else around me. "I don't know," I respond. "Maybe you should go ask her. I'll wait here."

"Oh, you're not Irish?" he sounds surprised. "Where are you from?"

"Tennessee!"

We end up chatting the night away. Pete says he's 39, but I think he could be in his early forties and he just doesn't want to tell me. He's a pharmacist from.....(he pauses, looking embarrassed)...East London. (For those of you who don't know, many people consider East London to the "wrong side of the tracks".) "But," he brightens, "now I live in north London."

He learns that I'm an American teacher, working in Luton, living in St. Albans.

We walk around, talking, and he buys me another beer. I'm getting a bit tipsy, and this guy is getting cuter.

Finally, we stop walking. The conversation lulls. I can feel his eyes on me, and I know what he wants, but I keep staring ahead. I try to casually glance up at him, but the way he's looking at me can't be considered casual. "What?" I ask.

"Nothing," he says, still staring at me. "I was just thinking."

Oh Lord, here we go. "Thinking what?" I ask innocently.

"You really wanna know?"

"Yeah, I think so. Why are you staring at me like that?

"Well, I was just thinking of grabbing you and snogging you, is all," he says. Wow, British men are so smooth.

"Snogging me?" I ask. What an awful word for something as fabulous as kissing!

"Yes," he says, trying to look more comfortable than he felt.

I smiled, "But you didn't do it."

As I turn to walk away, he grabs my wrist and pulls me to him. With one hand around my waist and the other softly on my face, he leans down and *snogs* me. The entire time we're kissing, I can't get the word snog out of my head. I mean, seriously, who came up with that word? It's horrible!

I like the way he kisses, so we kiss a lot. We walk a little, then he'll get that look on his face and pull me to him and kiss me for a few minutes. Some dude walks by and says, "Public snogging! I love it!"

Eventually, I get tired of the kissing game. I'd rather talk and see if we have anything in common or if there's some sort of potential there. But he's all turned on and just wants to make out.

The tube is closing soon, so we make our way into the Undergroud. We wait in silence for a few minutes. Our lack of conversation tells me that if we went on a date, it'd be really boring. Oh well! This guy is good for kissing and that's all!

I grab the front of his shirt and pull him to me, kissing him with my back against the wall. Do I want this to go any further? I think. "Oh, God, you're anmazing kisser!" he breathes.

We exchange phone numbers, then kiss some more.

I leave him in the tube, looking frustrated. We'll see if he calls me.

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