My nickname (one among many) is Ice Queen. I have the ability to freeze you in your tracks; make you U-turn your advances; leave you thinking I’m a bitch. Going out with a friend, she has always had that Come Hither sultry aura while I had the Stay Way Away and Wither look. I was an ice bath and castration all in one. No one has ever bought me a drink. No one dares.
Saturday night was oh so different. Enter Mr. Fearless (or Mr. Stupid depending on how you look at it). His approach was harmless and subtle compared to grabbing my hands and hauling me off my chair…He made introductions, gave compliments, and found the easiest way to my heart because he was paying attention. He mentioned the drummer. Questions, questions, questions. How do you know him? Where is he from? How long has he been playing? Can you introduce him to me? These are the queries I can handle. Then it became personal, more than where are you from? At first glance he sat a foot away. At second glance, six inches. Inching his way closer Mr. Fearless soon sat so close he was practically in my lap. It didn’t go unnoticed. “How’s that going?” my phone asked. “Not funny.” I responded with a pout. Why me I wanted to ask. I knew what he would say. Please don’t sit so close to me is what I should have said to me left. Instead I got up to get away. I’ll be back I tell my right-hand smirking, smiley friend. She knows what I’m escaping and holds back a smart comment. As I walk away I know she’s practically laughing at me.
I think I prefer ice and snow. I’m okay with being the Queen of Cold. I have my court. What I need is a stunt double.