To catch up on Parts 1-13, click here.
If I do say so myself, I looked pretty radiant at the dance. Sparkly hunter green dress, black shrug and heels, sparkling eyes, curly hair, and the glow of a woman in love (or serious like).
I quickly learned that "semi-formal" in this part of the world, however, means an ironed collared shirt and clean bluejeans. I was massively overdressed, but honestly I didn't care, because Mr. Amazing was looking sharp.
"If he'd just stand next to me," I thought, "we would be such a handsome couple!"
The dance started around 6:30 and my lessons had paid off -- I floated around the room with the beat. I danced literally every dance for two hours, with half a dozen or more different partners. But the so-called "Mr. Amazing" had danced only with his sisters and sat out the rest, talking with various wallflowers.
After two hours, I'd had quite enough of attempting to garner the attention of a certain best friend's brother, and I retreated, exhausted, to the chip and soda table.
Mr. Amazing was nowhere to be seen, and at this point I was past caring. This evening was supposed to have been dynamite; the night I'd been waiting for since Meg's wedding, a year before. But I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that it was going to end just like the other occasion -- with no request to dance and possibly even a snub.
As I stood there, daintily sipping my punch, a handsome young eligible approached. He started some small talk, and I was happy to pass the time with some company (and... yes... perhaps make Mr. Amazing a little jealous). The music was not particularly loud, but this guy started leaning in to talk. I backed up a step. He took a step forward. I limbo-leaned backwards each time he invaded my personal bubble, and he limbo leaned forward.
Imagine my surprise and delight when up to us strode Mr. Amazing, standing a full head above this other guy. He joined the conversation, but Cowboy Joe kept inching closer and closer.
I gave a sidelong glance to Mr. Amazing and he had the most amused look on his face as he watched the shenanigans. I cast him a furtive pleading look, he gave a stern glare to my leaning interlocutor, and out of nowhere he grabbed my wrist firmly in his massive hand.
"Alright" he said, commandingly and with a firm purpose, "it's about time! Let's dance."
He never asked me, he just grabbed me and led me onto the dance floor!
I wasn't sure whether to be ecstatic or annoyed!! I'd practiced so many times in my head that night how I would accept him when he asked (and, as the evening dragged on, how I'd reject him) and he'd STOLEN this dance!
But there we were, on the dance floor.
He and I.
"This is it!" I thought. "This is the turning point! At last!!"
I waited for the music to start without breathing as my heart pounded in my throat. One of his hands firmly engulfed mine, and the other was placed lightly but strongly on my waist. I hesitantly raised my hand and placed it, barely resting upon his powerful shoulder.
I avoided eye contact, and tried furiously not to blush.
Then the music started.
It echoed, familiarly, in my ears for a few seconds, before I realized which song it was. Then my face fell in anguish and I said, hurriedly and brusquely, "Sorry, I don't dance to this one," and ran quickly off the floor.
It was the MACARENA!!!
To be continued...