i'll have a perfect boyfriend soon, even if I have to make him up

Sometimes I go downtown to this dance studio and take hip hop dancing classes. I don 80s-style sweatbands and baggy sweatpants in bright colors and I try to look really ‘hood. It’s a blast.  Usually I say that in class, too (“Oh my god you guys…this is like SO fun!”). I really do have loads of fun, despite my teacher once claiming I danced like a flailing turkey.

Secretly, the best part of hip hop class is the dude that checks me in (or should I say “checks me out”). Between his smile and the flash of his eyes, I become dizzy before each lesson.  ”I’m SO glad you decided to dance with us, today.” He says it every time, and to everyone, but I know when he says it to me, he means it.

I was pleasantly surprised when I got on the train last week, and he’s there.  I sit far away because I’m nervous, but I smile at him and he smiles back. I toy with the idea of saying, “I’m SO glad you decided to ride the train with me, today”.  But instead I settle with a simple “hi”.  He recognizes me. We shake hands. Our hands linger. A good sign.  We chat.

I’m on my way to a vigil/martini party for the gay teens that have committed suicide. I throw that in there on the off chance he’s not doing anything and wants to be my date.  He invites himself along.  I’m pleased because I couldn’t find the words to invite him on my own.  ”I can’t believe what I’m wearing on our first date,” he says.  Good.  It’s clear.  I like him; he likes me. This is not a friendly outing, we are getting down to business.

We get to the bar, and he’s never been there before. I am surprised because it’s a popular place.  He complains, aloud, why it isn’t more diverse.  He hates the city; I love the city.  It’s also not very crowded.  I guess a vigil-themed martini night doesn’t attract the masses.  I apologize–I’m sorry it’s not more hoppin’ tonight, I say.

Hoppin’? He asks. I can’t believe this is happening.  I’m at the lamest bar with a guy who says “Hoppin’”.

I suddenly feel really old.

Sorry, I nervously reply, if we’re going to get to know each other you should know that I’m not cool at all. And I’ll never be cool. He says, No, it’s sweet. You’re really sweet. Just never use the word “hoppin’” again.

Alright.  It’s good. I like him, and he likes me.

Next, he grabs my hand and looks into me deeply. I want to know everything about you.

He wants to know everything about me?

Oh.

That’s all I can think to say. Oh. Because, that’s a little much to handle.  We parted ways somewhat smoothly and he called me and texted me all last week.  I hurled excuse after excuse at him.  I don’t know. I just can’t be that intimate with someone that quick.  And I don’t have the wherewithal to say something like, “Slow down, buddy.” or “Let’s just play things by ear”. Instead I just panic when the phone rings and pretend that I’m at work.

It’s a shame, though.  He was one sexy ballet dancer.  And he thought I was slammin’. Err..he thought I was off da hook.  Nope. Still not cool.