Twenty-eight

I went out dancing for the first time in over a month (which is just a sad, sad record for me).  It felt so great to be spinning around on the dance floor, but before I let the music take over my body I met Twenty-eight.  He and his friend were standing near me, so obviously I needed to talk to them.  I began with, “Hey guys, sorry to bother you, but I surveyed the people here that aren’t dancing, and they said they won’t start until you guys hit the dance floor.”  Twenty-eight promptly replied that they weren’t prepared to go on until 11.  Banter initiated, we chatted back and forth until my feet insisted on taking me to the dance floor.  I made sure to check in with them during my time-outs for water, and Twenty-eight and I briefly danced while he waited in line.

However, later he disappeared and his friend said he’s like a ghost and always sneaks away without saying goodbye.  I told him, “Well that’s just unacceptable. How am I supposed to ask him out if he left.  Let’s send him a message.”  So the friend saved my number, sent it to Twenty-eight with the note, “You forgot to get my number before you vanished.  Call me and take me out on a date.”  The next day I was excited to get a call from a random number, but it ended up being a telemarketer.  Stupid telemarketers.