Confidence (a.k.a 28)

It's a confidence kind of day when,
heading out to grab a late lunch,
a girl steps into an elevator with a man
in a button-down and top-siders who looks,
oh,
about 28 and well put-together
(but not too much so),
and rides down with him
while checking out his reflection in the mirrored doors,
not saying anything
in those 28 seconds it takes to go 28 floors
(in part because he really isn't her type),
(in part because who really ever talks to strangers in elevators
but in erotic literature or Aerosmith videos),
but believing that
if she had had a few more ounces of confidence and
he was indeed her type,
she indeed might have said something as easy as
"plans for the weekend?", and,
in part because
he was also checking out her reflection
(she could see),
he might have at least smiled at her chutzpah
before he stepped out.