Any way, I was hanging at my friend E's house with her kids on a Sunday afternoon, when the youngest, a precocious 4-year-old (H) asked me, "What do you want Santa to bring you for Christmas?"
Being silly, and though happily ensconced in my singledom, I jokingly replied, "A boyfriend."
"Then," H declared, "Santa will bring you a boyfriend!"
M's eyes lit up, and like a mad chef, she started listing things that he were musts in a boyfriend recipe for me (we'd been on a Once Upon a Time kick lately, and she knew I had a TV crush on Hook):
- He needs to make or like to eat good food--preferably both.
- He needs to like to watch movies.
- He needs to read his scriptures.
- He needs to like to read.
Yeah--it was an extensive list.
Almost a week later (August 9), I went to a singles' dance. I wanted to go to said dance, because my friend Beth said she was going to come, and we had danced up a storm this past summer--and had fun no matter the circumstances (read: awkward singles' conferences). But Beth had just landed a new job, which meant a new move, and I was left on my lonesome. So not happy about it, I walked in, determined to leave at the slightest provocation. And then scolding myself for being so anti-social. I had come because for two years all I did was lesson plan for teenagers at 6 in the morning, and it was time to have more friends and more fun.
I walked in, chose a table, and gauged the crowd. People seemed to know each other, and no one seemed to know me. It was a Blast from the Past dance and people were dressed in various costumes (including one woman in a full steampunk outfit, which doesn't quite blast to any past, but whatever, nitpicking). One girl kindly recognized me from a previous conference (because I helped her figure out the temple schedule), and I tentatively joined her group.
An enthusiastic dancer in a Thundercats T-shirt singled me out. A few times. He randomly knew my friend Eddie, and I had to laugh because Eddie and I had randomly talked about Mr. Thundercats before (He had contemplated going with us--Beth, Eddie, and I--to the DC singles conference in June). And when I was not about to dance to the Macarena, he kept hold of my hand as we walked back to the table. But I was not about to come off the market, so I encouraged him to hit the dance floor again, while I chatted with others.
Each time he danced with me, he would look me in the eye, and my defenses were on massive alert. And I couldn't meet his eyes, it was too intimate--too something. And he held me close, and as a fat girl, it made me very uncomfortable. Turns out, although there are days I think I am fine with my size (and that it will be my size forever due to my crazy health issues), I was less than comfortable (or believing) that a guy would be okay with it.
I kept dancing. I would notice when he would dance with other girls, and be a little annoyed. But I was not ready to take any steps toward someone when I just started attending singles activities! That would be ridiculous. When I was done with the evening, I snuck out. I felt bad though, for not saying, "Bye!"
Don't worry, later, I found him on Facebook. I noticed he was friends with my friend J*, and so I thought, "okay, he is probably not an ax murderer^."
"Are you the guy who danced up a storm at the Singles' Dance in Apex tonight?"
"If you're the cutie I had a wonderful time dancing with, yes."
to be continued. . . .
*there is another story there.
^here, too.
