The Blind Date

Not your followers. Get a little joy for you,” she adds, letting me know that she was paying attention as I filmed my video this morning.
“Or even a little dicking if that’s all you need,” Eli suggests.
The idea has definite merit. The dating, not the dicking. Well, maybe both if I’m being honest with myself, and I try to always be. “That could prove to be a little harder now . . .”
Eli laughs. “You mean there might be a bunch of horny ass dudes out there who’ll see you as a sugar mama? Or a notch in their bedpost?”
I nod, eyes widening at Eli’s way of putting it.
“Pssh . . . you’re overthinking it, girl! Just have some fun. Don’t worry about getting too serious.” He would be the one to suggest that.
Arielle drops her hand at the wrist. “Leave it to me. I have an idea and a plan. I’ll arrange everything for Friday night happy hour?”
Eli and I look at each other. When Arielle concocts a plan, we’re best to go along with it. “Sure. My place?” I offer.
Plan made, we gather up our trash and drop it in the nearest can. “Back to the grindstone?” I joke since none of us have jobs that feel like drudgery work. “I need to script my gratitude post.”
Eli points off to our right at the fountain in the park. “Orrr,“ he draws out, “how about I take a picture for you and then you can wax poetic as much as you want? You need to mix up the videos and photos, Riley.”
I laugh. “Like you’d know?” But he does have a point. I think I’m going to have a lot of words about this milestone, and I try to limit my videos to around a minute because those get the most interaction, so a photo with a long caption that could be clipped and quoted would be a good compromise. “Okay, let’s do it. You mind doing the honors?”
Eli bows graciously. “It’d be my privilege.”
We head over to the fountain, and I try a variety of poses, but Arielle clucks her tongue and takes over as photo director, though I’ve done this for myself hundreds of times. “Hop up on the edge of the fountain. It’ll make a better color contrast.”
I look around for anyone who might have a problem with that, but no one is paying us any attention. Trusting Arielle, I climb up on the wide concrete edge of the fountain which is used by a lot of people for sitting and enjoying the park. Turning to the side, I use the fountain edge as a balance beam and stick one leg out behind me, straightening my back, concentrating on balancing myself on one foot and giving my best smile. It’s what I like to call the ‘contemporary flirty pose’, something I saw on the cover of a romance book and have since added to my standard poses. In my mind, it says ‘I’m sexy, but that’s not all I am’, a bit ballerina meets fairy with a dash of legs-for-days and peach booty.
Garbed in a white sundress and my boots, with the sun shining on my face, I probably damn near look like a flower girl at a wedding, but it’s just me. I like being sunny and happy, and that’s what I want to share with the world.
“How’s this?” I ask, my voice strained as I try to balance myself. I hear my phone click, click, clicking away for shot after shot. Still smiling, I say through my teeth, “You keep this up and I’m going to be in the water!”
I start to get crazy looks from people as they walk by, and I hear a few laughs and even some guy calling out as he passes by on his bicycle, “I got an extra leg you can stand on, baby!”
Forget him. I’m too happy to pay the heckler any mind, and someone else calls out, “Work it, work it!” I choose to focus on that voice, letting it add to the chorus of positivity in my head, reminding me of what this photo will be used for.
I wobble back and forth on one leg. “Got it?” I beg.
Eli grumbles something about ‘working for a crazy chick’ to Arielle, and I call out, “I heard that!” Eli arches his blond brow in response and aims the phone at me. “Do not move,” he orders, and then he counts down from three and says, “Smile!”
At that exact moment, the fountain starts up behind me, surprising me and causing a huge gust of wind. Time slows, clicking by with every frame Eli is still taking, and I fight valiantly but lose my balance. My dress flies up to my chest, my mouth and eyes go wide in shock, and several onlookers let out scandalized gasps.
No, no, no! Oh, my God! No! I think to myself as I struggle to control my dress, hoping a cop isn’t lurking somewhere in the park, waiting to give me a citation for indecent exposure. Thank God I wore the granny panties that came in my new sponsor’s monthly box today! They’re the only thing hiding my ass from the people behind me and my vajayjay from the camera!
I drop my pose and any semblance of decency to fight with my dress, trying to push it down against the wind while balancing two-footed now on the too-narrow fountain edge. Eventually, I get the fabric locked between my thighs in the front and can hold the back down with my hands. Arielle runs over, holding a hand out, trying not to laugh.
“Need help getting down?”
I shake my head, not willing to let go of the back of my white skirt, which feels wet from the fountain’s mist. Great, now that I’ve gotten it down over my ass, it’s probably gone sheer from the moisture. I hop down to laughter and applause, and deciding, like Jane Eyre, that I’d rather be happy than dignified, I bow dramatically.
“Thank you, thank you.”
“Damn!”