fleeting romance

Last night as I sat on my bedroom floor, checking the expiration dates on a pile of condoms, I found a pair of women's reading glasses sheltered in a cavity at the bottom of the pile of books I've been starting to read since I moved in. The last time I recall having a woman in my bedroom was about a year ago, and I don't remember her wearing glasses, but for a moment my life was full of romance again, imagining they were hers. Then the moment passed. I realized that the glasses belonged to my cat-sitter and I tossed out all but three of the condoms.