I remember that smoky night (mostly coz of the sheesha). Bendover Thursday. It was a girls night and we were breaking down on the floor. Jiggling and wiggling, anything and everything. Letting it rip all the nonsenses of the week. It was litty.
Then I saw him. He wasn’t hard to miss. With his 6 foot frame and entrapping mesmerizing eyes, he was a towering figure. It was easy to miss his crew no shade(because who goes out alone? Les Miserables). So am there, feeling myself in my figure hugging body-con dress with my hair running wild (think Beyonce videos) while gyrating and throwing it in a circle back and forth. It’s a mustered skill. As far as I was concerned, it was a competition on the dance floor and I was the reigning queen.
Meanwhile I am eyeing him and I’m sure he is too. As I wait on him, apparently this nicca is waiting too. Who will make the first move? Now, my mama raised no punk. I don’t have an issue with approaching men and I will not advise against it. In fact I don’t advise period. I once tried to hit on a man on one of these girls nights(blame it on the ah ah ah ah ah Alcohol). At the dare of a friend. The spouse appeared from nowhere swinging arms and everything. Suffice to say once bitten twice shy.
So naturally, what is my next course of action? Inject a little, scratch that, a lot of sexiness into the dance moves. All I was missing was a BDSM costume with a whip in hand. To say I was doing too much was an understatement. In the words of En Vogue I was giving him something to not feel. But I was loving it. Ladies, sometimes it is okay to be over the top and hysterical. Embrace your crazy. He’s definitely checking me out. You could not miss the hyena-looking drooly stare. But why isn’t he making a move? At this point am over it. Time to start paying attention to the other sharks in the sea (who wants fish that don’t bite?)