Blogs to follow: Moths to a Flame

This blog about dating misadventures is pretty darn funny, if not particularly relevant to my situation in life.  Here’s a taste:

In the summer of 2010, I met CircleGlasses at The Princeton Club’s weekly live rooftop music program in mid-town Manhattan.  I arrived early to snag a high top table in the center of the patio.  It was the perfect anchor location for people to drop by, mix, mingle, and move on. While I was seat-dancing / shoulder-bopping to a little jazz, CircleGlasses came over.  He briefly chatted us and then got my number before leaving.  He was what I call “old world adorable” because he was wearing a dinner jacket and circular glasses at a casual evening event – in any other season we can safely assume an ascot would be fashioned around this neck.  I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was no longer the 18th century.

THE FIRST DATE

CircleGlasses and I texted over the weekend and set a date for Monday.  But there was just one thing I had missed…

You see, my physical dimensions make me the human equivalent of an IKEA flatpack: 6′ long, 20″ wide, 6″ deep.  Combine my natural height with the extra inches from my requisite heels and I stand no less than 6’3″ on any given day. Basically, I dwarf the Williams sisters.  I have had a number of life experiences that made me feel like extreme height was normal. In my elementary school I was in a combined 4th-6th grade classroom, so the inches I had over my fellow 4th graders were not noticeable in comparison to the 6th graders.  In my very Scandinavian Minnesota high school, my Viking-descended classmates were all fairly tall, so I fit in just fine.  After high school, I walked the runway a few times and everyone around also was a lanky slyph.  Even now, with my Danish/Swedish family, I look squat at the Thanksgiving gathering since the shortest of my three cousins is 6’5″.   When I met CircleGlasses while sitting down, I forget that I missed out on comparing the compatibility of our heights.

We had arranged to meet in the Flat Iron district for cocktails and dinner.  As I approached him on the sidewalk, I noticed for the first time that CircleGlasses stood a diminutive 5’6″.  When we met, it was like the scene when Glinda the Good Witch presents the lolli-pop guild.  I was hovering far above the ground and in a herky jerky motion he stuck out his arm for a strong handshake.  It was awkward…  We needed to get to a seated situation STAT. It’s just too bad that the gods were having a laugh that day.  The place where we scheduled cocktails was closed for a private party; the backup location was closed on Mondays; the bar at our dinner locale was standing room only.

For 30 minutes I contorted my back into scoliosis-inducing curves, bent my knees like I was doing wall sits, and rocked sideways off my heels trying to lose some inches.  When a person feels self-conscious because of appearance there’s usually a fix. Got a zit bubbling up?  Slap on some concealer, you’ll be fine.  B.O. wafting away? put those ‘pits on lock down.  Weird cowlick happening in your bangs?  Work those angles, girl.  I can usually use my surroundings for an advantage, but in this case there was no help for the shoulder-hunching.  Finally, we sat for dinner at one of the restaurant’s elevated tables. I can’t say for certain, but I’m pretty sure his feet were swinging from the high chairs.

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