We were both posing under flashing nightclub lights. How I got there I didn’t know, but somehow I was posing for a picture with the guy I had been weak for for months. The thing is, embarrassment follows me through dating like a bad smell, so of course it had to pop up during this moment too.
Everything was going fine, he seemed as relaxed as ever, nobody else on the dancefloor was at all bothered, it was only me who was mentally placing this framed photo of us together on the mantelpiece I didn’t have yet. I moved in closer and placed my hand on his stomach in order to, I don’t know really, look lovey dovey?
I could see my friend looking over, and somehow that was the trigger. Out of nowhere at 1am, surrounded by the boom of a 90’s classic, the anxiety set in. I suddenly had no idea how to act cool and aloof around this guy. It hit me, I was full on cute and cuddly with the guy I had been in a “Wait, huh?” Snapchat sitch with for months.
The only part of my body that physically reacted to the panic was my hand, I was mentally re-reading his “Are you getting attached?” Snapchat and knew the hand couldn’t be helping my “Whaaaat? Omg noooo!” side of the argument. The hand wasn’t cool and casual, the hand said “Back off folks, the man is mine even though he isn’t half-arsed about me!” So, instead of falling back to my side, for some reason it just floated forward, resting on nothing but dancefloor air. The flash went off, and suddenly I realised that the first and last photo I had with this man would be of him acting completely normal beside me, whilst my left hand floats aimlessly in the air. The gap was so obvious and awkward, we could have wedged Buckingham Palace between my hand and his stomach.
Needless to say, I didn’t make it into his Facebook profiler, and I don’t think the floating hand was a very convincing “I’m not even attached??” statement. Yep, time to rethink the mantelpiece decorations.