The Great Collide

"May I have this dance," purred the handsome stranger. 

His eyes crystalline sparkles beneath hair layered like the night sky. His sculpted jaw cradled a grin. He stood there, palm outstretched he was like an angel dressed in white.

My spit-take sprayed grape juice all over his white shirt. The gentleman promptly screamed.

"Uh come again?" I squeaked. Forget the romantic vision. I pinched myself realizing I was being hit on. The deer in the head lights gaze I had didn't help matters.

In the dim ambiance of the bar he looked kind of cute until lights hit revealing the pockmarks where pimples once erupted. I gagged.

This kid was, I’m sure of it, ten years my junior when he implied, “Are you single?”

"You know I'm suddenly very busy tonight,” I lied, "At home with my kids who are your age, I’m too old.”

It wasn't a total lie. I went home to two dogs. In dog years they were this spring chicken's age. They're the closest thing I have to kids. With one large lab across my lap. Her little buddy squished in the crook of my arm. I had a much safer time with them and a good book than I did at the bar.