We choose to go off to dinner, and furiously texted each other backwards and forwards. Every thing seemed pitch perfect. We got along, we had fun together––we had comparable flavor in movies, & most importantly, he didn’t look like a knife-wielding psychopath.

He told us to turn out on Friday. I became above pleased to oblige.

I experienced psyched myself up with all the vow of brand brand new makeup products, a pre-game coffee buzz, additionally the necessity Beyonce tunes. As this will be exactly what girls in like do, appropriate? Tonight had been going to be the evening once I emerge from my girl that is awkward cocoon and start to become a Siren incarnate.

But, as opposed to having sailors perish when confronted with my fantastical charms, the crashing that is only occurred had been me… crashing and burning.

One thing explained that i ought to probably play up my sensuality –– that looking just like the feminine form of Ducky from Pretty in Pink would do absolutely nothing for my lust-object IQ, but hey, it appeared like he liked me for me personally, and we wasn’t going to totter around in heels for an additional Friday evening in a row. Instead of choosing the sheer low cut Valentino blouse, or high-waisted fabric shorts, I went for thin jeans, pointed buckle boots, and a sharp button-up tuxedo shirt that is white. Also to top my ode off towards the New Romantics? A porkpie hat.

He’d invited us away for an hangout that is atypical Clubland, therefore in a means I happened to be arming myself from the assaults of smarmy dudes, holding down hope that maybe he’d have the ability to see my flirtatious smolder from underneath my 80s-best-friend get fully up. Continue reading →