Dance

“She’s beautiful, you know,”

            “Yeah, she is.”

                        “She’s dancing.”

                                    “Yeah, I know.”

                                                “Well?”

                                                            “What?

                                    You want me to just waltz up to her and ask her to dance?”

            “Well, yeah, it would do you a bit of good.”

“Forget that. I’d get shot down faster than a big blimp with a bull’s-eye on it.”

            “You say that, but you don’t know that’s gonna happen.”

                        “Beautiful.”

                                    “Yeah…”

                                                “She’s…

                        Shut up dude! I’m not her type. Look at her.”

“But you don’t know that!”

“Sure I do! Happens over and over again. ‘Hey there, wanna dance?’ ‘Er, no not really’”

            “But she could be different.”

            “What?”

                        “Different. She might say yes.”

            “Might. There’s always the ‘might.’”

                        “What have you got to lose?”

                                    “My…

My sanity, for one! I’ve had it up to here with getting rejected. Pisses me off, every time! Argh!”

“Fine. You want a drink?”

“Yeah, nothing heavy, though. I’m driving. Get me a G and T.”

“Coming up.”

            …

                        …

                                    “She is beautiful, though, isn’t she.”

                                    “Yeah she is.”

                                    “Hair, face…”

                                    “Curves…”

                                    “Yeah, well that goes without saying.”

                                                “So go on, dance with her.”

                                                …

                                                            …

                                    …

                                    …

                                                …

                        …

            “No.”

            “Ah. You one funny burrito, señor.”

“Hah! No, it’s just that she’s probably, you know, got friends with her or something.”

“Then make it a foursome!”

“Pfff… hah! Shut up. Now. Sick sonovabitch.”

“Here’s your drink.”

“Thanks.”

“You keep looking at her, though.”

“Well, yeah, the blonde hair, you know, in the lights and stuff, kinda draws attention…”

“Well?”

“Get me another one.”

“You finished that one fast.”

“Yeah, well I’m thirsty.”

“Seriously though. I know you like her. And sooner or later she’ll notice you’re staring.”

            “Yes.”

                        “She’s noticing.”

                        “Yes.”

                                    “She’s smiling.”

                                    “Yes.”

                                                                                                            Nod. Smile.

                                                                                    “Attaboy. Go get her.”