Nisha was
oblivious. She was busy digging through her purse for coins. But I wasn’t.

The
bagger at the checkout counter was filching covert glances at her chest as he
crams cans and cans of beer into those yellow plastic bags. As we dawdled
around the grocery store tonight grabbing all sorts of party stuff, I had a
grand time watching other men’s rather cagey glances. I observe them spot her
from across the aisle and then momentarily stop what they were doing to gawk at
her. I watched with glee as their wives or girlfriends notice them looking and
then follow their partner’s eyes to Nisha who was looking too cute without her
even knowing it. It actually feels kind of odd to be this distant to watch all
of this happen. I mean ordinarily I wouldn’t notice them at all because I’d
probably be one of the guys gawking.

As we
strolled one aisle going to the checkout counter earlier, an old bat almost
dropped a big jar of mayonnaise as he was so distracted by her. I shit you not.
All of these may sound funny to you but this is probably the most accurate way
I could describe this girl, this Nisha Solomon. She’s the sort of hottie that would make you fumble jars of mayonnaise on
the condiments aisle in the grocery.

I’m
hauling two heaping plastic bags of assorted cans of beer as we leave the
store. Ordinarily, I would’ve been fine with a couple of cans of Red Horse but
she looks pretty much decided on getting piss drunk hence the bottles of Cuervo
gold and Absolut Kurant. “Nixie, I still don’t see why even half of this purchase would not suffice
to send us into a coma.” I told her as we walk across the parking lot to her
car; the rain has let up but the night remained considerably drizzly. She was
holding an umbrella over my head, and I wish she wouldn’t do stuff like that
because she’s so cute when she does.

“Oh we’re
not going to go drinking by ourselves silly, we’re going to a house party!” She
said leaning in closer, whispering the last bit.

“What?!
Nixie! I smell worse than Persian food! And while you find my gym clothes sexy,
I’m sure not everybody would share the same sentiments, especially not in a
fucking party!” I said hyperventilating and getting all sweaty. I’m like this
when I get anxious and stuff.

“I didn’t
say your entire outfit was sexy Mike; I said your boxers were.” She said
activating the keyless entry thing of her Mazda. The car beeps twice in
agreement.

“But…but…but…”

“Hop in!”
Women are so manipulative…

“Okay, just
don’t puke on me this time okay? Remember the time when you insisted on
drinking those horrible red and blue shots?” I begged. “I’m done supporting
your head over the toilet bowl and rubbing your back while you hurl” I’m such a
liar, I love rubbing her back.

“That’s
another thing I don’t understand about women, why can’t you just make getting
drunk simpler and drink strong beer? It would save you a lot of retching in my
opinion.” I added.

“Awwwwww
Mikey…” She said putting on her cute voice. “You’re saying you won’t hold
me and rub my back anymore if I threw up? I think I’d really love that.” She
said starting the engine.

“Besides,
I cleaned you up and took you home when you were too drunk to even know how to
open your car door remember? Talk about gratitude.” She says with a mock pout
that I hate so much because it’s so cute.

“Okay
Nixie, Okay.” I said raising both my hands in submission. This girl’s
impossible.

Her
souped up Mazda MX5 has a trunk but I didn’t bother stuffing the grocery bags
there. I know for a fact that Nisha is pathologically the worst driver in the
world and these ‘ere shopping bags will stay between my legs where they’re
safer. I settle down into my seat and buckled up as she drops to reverse. A
group of guys check us out as we pull out of the slot and make our way out of
the parking lot. So this is why people drive these Fast and the Furious-esque
rice rockets; these things are badass attention whores.

Nisha
spends a bulk of her money on her car which makes me feel lame. I mean here’s a
law student who spends megabucks buying twin cam shafts, carbon fly rods or
what not on her car, and here I am spending most of my salary on food, books,
DVDs and games. This is a crushing validation indeed; yes, ladies and
gentlemen, I am a geek.

“Want to
listen to anything? I have discs on the disc changer.” She says shuffling CD’s
with the remote as I watch titles flash across the LED display: Kittie, Lacuna
Coil, Trance Mix, Audioslave, and Hale among others. What the fuck?

“You
listen to Hale?” I ask with a vague grin on my face.

“Yes. I
only like one song though, ‘The day you said goodnight.’” She says with an
inquiring glance.

“Is that
the song that goes: To be!!! Mukha kang
tutubi!! The day you said goodniggghttt?” I ask mockingly.

“That’s
exactly it.” She says rolling her eyes and making sure to play the infernal
Hale song.

That
upset me so much that I completely didn’t notice her make a left turn to Marcos Highway, there goes my chance to brace
myself. She floors the accelerator and the little car flew down the highway at
speeds, that I’m sure, broke the sound barrier. My only wish was that Nisha’s
car could have some sort of countdown system so this sort of thing doesn’t
happen anymore: I mean her speeding through red lights and her accelerating the
goddamn thing to zero to sixty in eight seconds flat. Considering how fast this
little rice rocket could go, the countdown would have to be similar to those
they use for launching space shuttles.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six,
five, four, three, two, one, zero! Mission control; launch the annoyingly
yellow Mazda rice rocket on launch pad four!

“You look
so nervous, calm down will you?” She told me, leaning over to give me a pat on
my inner thigh. I pretend to ignore it and act unfazed but I feel things
throbbing and rearranging under my pants.

“We’re
here! She says, pulling into the driveway of a house somewhere near Antipolo.
She reaches over to me to grab her purse just about the same time I was leaning
forward to grab the grocery bags. The result was me accidentally cupping her
right boob.

“I didn’t
do that on purpose Nixie.” I said trying to act natural.

“Let’s
get drunk, who knows? I might let you do that on purpose later.” There goes
more throbbing and more rearranging under my pants.

And I
don’t know how the hell it happened but we ended up kissing in the car before
going up to the party. So here I am kissing Nisha again—which is honestly not
an unenjoyable thing if you ask me. This girl must be one of the worst drivers
in the world but she’s certainly one of the best kissers.