So there he was. Dancing with me, moving his body like a god, chatting in Dutch with well shaped English in-between and brief inserts of Papiamento. He was singing along with the song in Spanish. Singing made him even more attractive. You have to know that my singing is very similar to Vogon poetry, so I’m easily impressed. Still, not every man is confident and charming enough to do that. Anyway, he was too difficult to resist, so I played along, chatted and smiled. Weeks went by.
“Move your hips. If I can do that as a man, then you can do it too.”
“You’re a black man and I’m a white woman. Mind the difference.”
“Cut the crap, will you?!”
Nice to know he has trust in me, but there’s no way I can equal him in moving my body. I won’t even try.
“You look good. You’ve lost some weight.”
“No, I actually gained some.”
“Don’t try to fool me. It’s your ass, not your hair. I notice important things!”
I just took that as a compliment.
“Do you dance to R&B too?”
“Dance to what? I’m white, remember?”
“We should do that some time. I’m sure you’ll like it.”
I’m rather afraid me trying to move among all the dark bodies will be rather embarrassing, but maybe it’s worth a try…
“You know, I like everything about you. It’s just one thing that bothers me.”
All of a sudden I felt like I was failing the test to become his wife. I was not aware I applied, though.
“What is it?”
“You seem very spoiled. All you do is shopping.”
LOL, I did spend two Saturdays in a row shopping. Can’t blame him for this conclusion.
“So what makes you talk to me in the first place?”
“You’re a nice guy and it seems you’ve got something to say. That’s a rare feature.”
What was I supposed to say?
“Yeah, I’ve got something to say. The questions is… can you process all I have to say?”
This made my evening!!! I definitely failed the test, though.
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