H.O.W. The distance, A dress, A night prt 1

Do-gooder: I don’t think this is going to work.
VK: (upbeat) ok
Do-gooder: I just keep going back and forth one moment I’m happy and want to be with you the next day I panic and freak out over dating.
VK: (upbeat) ok
Do-gooder: don’t try to change my mind on this
VK: I wont
Do-gooder: (slight shock) you wont, well ok then so I guess this is goodbye
VK: See yah!

Click.

I was standing in my dark 501 shirtless, time, 7:00 pm. I threw on my extra krispy pure black button up, my black Stacey Adams, and my bone white tuxedo dinner jacket with the black trim. Found my black silk pocket square and I was golden Pony Boy, fucking Golden. My phone rang again at 7:20 and D the H.O.W (Hot Older Woman) told me she was waiting down stairs. I stepped off the elevator, walked towards the front and there she was a vision of Heaven. Her dress was this peach color that glowed against her lightly tanned skin. She wore these golden earrings that dangled, with what I can only describe as flesh colored high heels that matched her dress and were at least 3 inches. With her hair long brown and hanging over one shoulder she towered over me at 6′2.

There was enough time to tell her she was pretty, a hug, and we had to get moving. We had reservations at J&G Steakhouse at The W at 8:15 (apparently it’s all fancy and shit). She was genuinely impressed with my dapper fashion sense and showered me with compliments once in the car. As we entered the elegant lobby the pattern of attention we’d get that night started immediately. First there was a stunned silence in the room (like the feeling you get when you walk into a room and people are talking about you) if there were a pair of girls they’d nudge each other and whisper about her dress. If it was an older couple together first the wife or GF would look and sneer or take a double look, then the husband or BF would look and drop his jaw. Hands down I felt like I was with the hottest woman in DC that night. Cool chicks would come up to her and gush that they loved her dress, drunk guys would point at me and slur that my jacket was awesome or pimp. I’d get a nod of confidence from older gentlemen. We were quite the pair. A 6′2 39 year old ex model, actress, writer, mother with a 5′10, 29 year old random dude, a fucked reverse vortex of the norm, I ate it up.

Once seated and complimented by the hostess on our combined sexy, we ordered and the conversation flowed. Topics bled into each other as we discussed travel, divorce, relationship, hopes, dreams the future. I was extremely impressed with how graceful she handled the attention as if she didn’t notice every woman wanting to be her and there men wanting to be with her. When she talks about her career it’s with humility, never bragging about her accomplishments but claiming luck and timing. I lean back listening smiling, letting her talk. I have an inner panic attack when it hit’s me that I’m sitting across a fucking.grown.woman, I felt truly outclassed in every sense of the word. Well accomplished, two tax brackets higher, a decade of life experience more than me. What the fuck was I bringing to the table, to all of this. I have a flashback back to Jr Prom, my first date when my mom gave me the keys to her Benz.

“VK, at some point during the meal make her feel beautiful”

D is telling me about her trip to Italy and I lean in like I have a secret only she should hear, over the candle light I interrupt her,

“Excuse me D, I just wanted to let you know that you look absolutely stunning in that dress and I wanted to thank you for accompanying me out tonight”

My eyes are straight and direct, I have a slight smirk, my voice was Earl Jones low. Her face turns a deep red and for the first time all night I see her flustered. She smiles,

“Jesus VK, thank you, you don’t know how good you just made me feel”

Bulls eye. My boy’s GF was working reception at the hotel that night, she hooked it up so that after dinner we walked straight to the front of the line for the elevator to go to the rooftop patio lounge over looking the city. It’s surprising how nobody even squeaked a complaint as if they already knew the golden rule, that truly beautiful women don’t ever wait in line.

Once we stepped off the elevator and outside the view hit her like jab to the uterus. “Wow Vk, this is fabulous”, at that moment she puts her arm through mine. We walk about looking at different locations of DC. I decide it’s time to show her the just as impressive inside lounge. We walk in and take a second to admire the glowing bar as the live jazz band sets up. To play.

Again, she barely drinks but I order her the one drink she’ll have for the night. Within a couple of sips she’s tipsy and I’m even more relaxed to let my VK signature jokes fly. I told her I don’t like to gamble because I have already have two pretty bad vices, drinking and women. She makes a sex joke and I follow it up with a comment involving handcuffs and Chinese finger traps. She complains about how her ex was never really in the mood, I told her if I wasn’t in the mood I’d do a line of Viagra off her ass and get there. He wasn’t really into lingerie I told her if she got with me there’d be Classy Tuesday with La Perla and Whore Friday’s with Fredericks. She laughed so hard couples on both sides of us were staring over at us. If you want to raise your status in a room, make the prettiest girl laugh, hat tip.