I saw her from across the dance floor.
She wore an acid washed demim blue jean mini skirt,
white blouse, low boots.
She had dark shoulder length hair and
was doing a slow groove at the bar
when I approached and ordered a beer.
I picked up the beer, took a quick swig,
and accidently slammed it down on the wooden bar, nerves jangling.
It erupted, full foam, over the glass top and my trembling hand.
I glanced at her and smiled sheepishly, lowering my head in embarrassment.
She smiled back.
(Without looking, I knew my friends at our table were howling).
I took another quick swig of my beer and set it down, hard,
beer foam flowing once again.
Oh My Godddddd! Why is this happening to me?!
I was pretty sure she thought I was a complete dork.
I’m terrible at this pick up game!
In spite of the beer foam(s), we really hit it off.
I have to go now she said abruptly. Her words stabbed the air.
Immediately I thought she must not like me.
It was the beer foam(s), wasn’t it?
It’s getting late and I have to pick up my kids she explained.
Relief. Sweet sweet relief.
So it’s not me.
We said bye and I bee-lined it back to my friends before she could leave.
I’ve always wanted kids and someone that looked like her,
but not tonight.