It was the hot and sticky summer of 2006.
(I mean strictly weather here, folks!)
(sure I do....)
Location: Gainesville, FL.
That, of course means that my definition of "summer" was April. Hot and sticky nonetheless - don't even think about picking up that hair straightener! There will be no point.
But I digress.
I was headed out on the town with my BFF Holly, who had evolved as such from being a previous Aerobics student of mine (that's what happens when you're the same age as those you teach...)
On the way to midtown in my silver Nissan Frontier (how I miss you!), rocking out to vintage hip hop and car-dancing like a pair of wild satyrs, we see blue lights reflecting off of the dash...
So we pull over, in front of all the clubs of course, being seen by many a Friday-night-bootie-shaker on the way to do just that (no kidding, later a fella friend asked me, "really? that was you? hahahahaha...."), and up walks up one of Gainesville's finest - a young, obviously bored one at that.
Turned out that my license plate had expired.
An assertion that a new sticker was in the mail (which was almost true) got us off the hook, but he still took my VA license,
"just to make sure you're not wanted or anything."
Then, this comes piping out of the shadowy passenger side from the lovely redhead next to me -
"oh, she's wanted, all right!"
As my hand covered my eyes in (semi-authentic) embarassment, he walked away. I snickered and turned to Holly, possibly calling her a not-so-nice name...
And eventually he brought me back my license (nope, no felonies, thanksverymuch) and we were on our way.
As this was in one of the heights of my intermittent male-objectification-pink-spoon days, the evening included making rounds, having drinks, dancing with various hotties (none of which we exchanged names with, thankssss), until at 1am, tired, sweaty, and goofalicious, we took a seat at the bar.
"How about this - we look over each others' shoulders, and I'll pick yours out, and vice versa."
It was on.
There were many suggestions and discards, with an occasional cha-ching! that got us a bit of conversation, perhaps a dance or two, but as it was girls' night, nothing more....
...when Holly's eyes widened as she gazed past my left ear. She grinned and nodded, and gave me a purposeful glance before her eyes returned to the prey.
At the perfect moment, my right hand snaked up and around, Indiana Jones whip-crack style, and caught hold of Mr. Mysterious' wrist. I slowly turned my head and brightly smiled at him.
"Hi, how are you?"
....as the next 1.892 seconds passed, I realized that Holly had made a grave mistake. He was a Monet! Oh no!
note: I have only a vague memory of my uncannily accurate aim that must've had to do with the Force being with me. The eighteen thousand malibu and pineapples probably helped with both my foggy memory, and my aim. That info is straight from Holly, circa the next day...
My smile never faltered, he said he was fine, and just as the glimmer began to appear in his eyes, I grinned and said,
"That's great! Well, have a good night!"
-and turned back around to the bar. (you'd better believe that H was apologetic)
Yikes! That was a close one.
And yep, I was one of those girls, in only that moment.
But hey, it happens to the best of us, right?
Besides, I still chuckle about it every now and then, and I don't remember a single word exchanged with any of the others, so in the grand scheme of things, Mr. Monet gets the most of the C-brain-airtime.