"Hi, it's me!!" he was saying, as he ran toward me from the street. I
was tucked into an alley next to the restaurant we were supposed to
meet at, surreptitiously taking pictures of the violet-spike-heeled lady
wearing a loud and aggressively matching top that passed for little
more than a bra (the people watching in Chinatown is awesome) when he
caught me off guard. I gave him my best "No, I wasn't just taking
pictures of hos!" look and we shook hands all professional-like. And
that's when I felt self-conscious.
A wee bit taller is
one thing and not a big of a deal but FATTER is a different story. It's a
scientific fact that the North American female will only comfortably disrobe in the
presence of a mate heavier than her. Otherwise I will feel like an angler fish whose only objective in life is to absorb my man.
 |
Female angler fish with attached male (circled in red),
soon to be absorbed. |
He smiled easily and looked fun so we snuck inside the
Irish bar for a drink. Conversation was easy and we laughed,
and he had this endearing way of throwing back his head and emitting a
throaty rise, and so we will probably meet again. We hugged goodbye
afterwards but contact was stiff and awkward. I think he was scared of
getting too close lest he disappear into the hefty protuberances of my
fleshy orb.
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