| As six or seven of my closest friends walk inside, we made our way to the bar area. Luckily, the SPAM provided a strong starting package: good music, friendly bartenders, and a surprisingly proportional ratio. This Saturday night was not to be wasted.
During the first couple of minutes, she makes eye contact, but it was only to be broken three seconds later. She flashes an innocuous smile, and I whisper to my wing, "That's the one."
She was the one. But I had to think of something clever, something unique, something well. . .PUA. Fortunately, my pivot provided me with the perfect solution; she happened to have a Polaroid camera (the one that provides the gratification of instant pictures). Why didn't I ever think of that? It was the Perfect Peacock. Then I remembered that such great devices are left abused by the Ages of new technology.
Nonetheless, I approach her with the bulky camera. "Hey, make sure you get my good side." After she takes the picture of us, I thank her and let her out of my sight. It was time to get some drinks and run a few more sets.
About thirty minutes pass by. So does she. "You're not such a bad photographer. I might have to keep you around!" She is left smiling by my comment, but could not return it with a clever remark herself. I was the one.
Yet once again, we take our own directions. It was the right thing to do. I spend the next thirty minutes utilizing my new pivots. They were older, yet surprisingly attractive, cougars that served their purpose of creating sexual tension in the air. I knew she was still watching me.
I decided to pull out my final lifeline and approach her for the last time. We began dancing right away. I showed her my moves; she teased me with hers. We let our bodies come close, but we also let them drift apart. The sexual tension was at its climax and everyone in our peripherals began to show their appreciation. They couldn't help but catch it themselves.
Her friends caught on quickly. They left her and her "new friend" to be alone. Probably so they could find one for themselves. After twenty minutes of small-talk, she told me she was a hair-stylist at a trendy fashion boutique in my area- something by the name of ULTA. Though I have never heard of it, I played along anyway. "Great! Now you can cut my hair." I didn't need a hair cut. She laughed and told me to make an appointment. And she was serious.
Sadly enough, this story comes without a fairy-tale ending. Fate made us part ways abruptly, and a moment of passion was lost to our needy friends and an increasingly populated crowd. But I did not leave empty handed. I was smart enough to obtain her business card for an appointment that I would make in the near future. What I did not know is that I only had her work information. Now I would have to call her sometime between Monday through Friday, during the hours of nine-to-five. It's how the way our world turns. . .
Last edited by Jay Wa on Sun Feb 03, 2008 5:07 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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