Call it fate, call it kismet, either way, a bit of karma stands head and shoulders above the rest.
The Tall Man is my Bachata dance class. Spoiler alert: we’ve scheduled an honest-to-goodness date. I may have to wear heels.
This life thing is funny. Little did I know that a dance class would lead me to a meeting with the Tall Man from my wayward sports bar encounter. To catch you all up, I planned to go to an 80’s dance night but an overly crowded parking lot caused a change of plans back in March. Instead, I found myself perched on a barstool next to a 6’8″ former college basketball center watching the Round of 32 play for a spot in the Sweet Sixteen.
Fast forward to now. Bachata is starting and he is easy to pick out in a crowd. OK, he picked me out first because I’m oblivious.
“Are you stalking me?” I asked. Again, 10 seasons of Criminal Minds makes me think everyone is a serial killer.
“I could ask you the same.” Touché.
He’s got a good 17″ on me so… sure! I’ll team up with him for dancing. It will make any spins very easy and I won’t worry about messing up my hair by brushing his arm with my head.
Plus I wonder if everything is proportional. THERE! I SAID IT! You were just thinking it…
Thank God for anonymity on the internet.
Under that tall exterior and hands large enough to palm a basketball is a really sweet guy. He held the door and walked me to my car at the end of the evening (probably to get my license plate number to track me down for murdering later) and politely asked if I would join him for dinner.
If I’m going to be sold as a sex slave I might as well get a meal out of it first.
Hopefully, he’ll let me live. The dance class has 7 more lessons and I prepaid.
Stay tuned for more… if I am not kidnapped.
Damn you, Criminal Minds.