Not Likely to Happen

It’s long been a fantasy of mine to pick up the hottest girl on the dance floor.  Problem is, I’m not really into the club scene, I’m not a great mover, and while I may be ‘alright’ in the looks department, I’m certainly not Brad Pitt.

Conversation is my angle.  Get me one-on-one, add a little natural chemistry, inject some funny, a bit of mind fucking, and we’ll have a pretty damned unforgettable evening together.  Loud club music is the enemy of those types of conversations.

The fantasy, as a result, lived somewhere between gaining super powers and flying into outer space.  To be perfectly clear, it’s filed under ‘not likely to happen in anyone’s lifetime’.

After the read last night, Frank dragged me out with his date and two buddies.  I really didn’t want to go, but sitting home and doing nothing wasn’t really appealing either.  We wound up at a place on Queen and Bathhurst called ‘Tota’.  No cover.  Intimate dance floor.  Club music.  Beer.

First thing I did was ditch the group in favour of some pizza being served up across the street.  After that I went inside, bought a Keith’s and found Frank among a mass of humanity.  His date sort of ditched him.  We watched her work the room for a couple minutes.  She knew a lot of people there.

As I said, I wasn’t into being there in the first place, but I certainly wasn’t about to sit on the wall to watch the evening pass by either.  Off to the dance floor I went to close my eyes, move my ass, and ‘be’.  It was not unpleasant out there for me.

I’d open my eyes occasionally to see what was happening around me and I saw her immediately – the hottest girl on the dance floor.  We seemed to be moving through the same bit of real estate at regular intervals.  Didn’t think much of it.  She was dancing with everyone.

After a couple hours she was up at the front with a drum wedged between her legs, putting on a show.  She was good too.  Hellova drummer to put it simply.

The room kind of moved me towards her.  I watched and I danced with myself.  After a while she stopped, and I was close enough to ask her why.  She shrugged.  I told her to keep playing.  She handed me her stick and started banging with her fingertips.

Sometime shortly after that, I found myself banging that drum with her.  Wasn’t even thinking about it.  I was moving and counting the beats.  Period.  Did that for awhile then waded back out onto the floor for some more ass shaking.

At the end of the night I passed by her to get my coat.  Took a quick moment to thank her for letting me bang the drum with her.  We fell into a quick conversation and shortly after that, she was punching her number into my phone.  I didn’t even ask.  I didn’t even try to get it.

What’s more, It’s been a whole day and I still don’t feel like dialling it.  Not really the point though.  I got the number of the hottest girl on the dance floor.  Friended her on facebook.  How the hell did that happen?

Think I’ll get myself fitted for a space suit next.

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