Romance At The Movies…

So I met someone.

To a regular reader who knows about my man-search, this is a hell of a breakthrough.

I won’t waste your time then, here’s what happened…

***

…It was a hot and hazy Summer’s night, so naturally we found ourselves…hiding indoors.

Our latest refuge: the movies.

Walking through the doors was like having Mr. Freeze ejaculate all over you.  Cold.  In alternative terms (ejaculation analogies are not for everyone), it was almost like standing in a meat locker, and oh my god was it stacked with meat.  There were fleshy humans in every size, parading around in various states of undress.  I wondered where all the evaporating sweat from our foreheads was disappearing to…was it floating off into the theatre air?  Was I breathing in (other people’s) dried up sweat?  Sometimes science scares me.

I headed on over to the automated booth, to get myself some tickets for “The Happening” [sidenote: though this contradicts what 10 million critics will tell you, "The Happening" is a very enjoyable flick.  I'm not being sarcastic, nor am I clinically insane.  I simply found myself entertained by this 90-minute morbid creep-fest.  I don't care what else it failed to be, it was gross and creepy and FUN! Okay, getting off the soap-box now...].

I handed two tickets to my friend and her boyfriend (just call me “3rd wheel” Romi), and off we went to find the best seats.

We snagged the back row of the theatre, which was easy enough since most of the seats were empty.  As I buried my face in a mile-high bag of popcorn, I was blind to the fact that someone had landed next to me.

It was a crew of someones actually, a team of 3.

Though it was dark I could tell they were dudes, a fact I determined from their husky voices, as well as the sweet combination of natural musk and Axe bodyspray (so they were young…or pretending to be). 

Thinking nothing more of the man to my left, I proceeded to watch the previews.  Before they were even over, I felt the strangest sensation…on my foot.  The feeling circled my ankle, setting my body awash with all things “horny”.

(the dude was playing footsies!).

Since when do people do that to total strangers?  It was a bold and daring move, but I supported the assertiveness.

Feeling too nervous to respond in kind, my foot sat frozen as the rest of me trembled.

The movie was about a third of the way through, and footsie-man was having a field day with my lower half. 

I felt it was time to respond to his advances, and so our war of the lower extremities began.

It was fun, it was secretive, and it was even a little romantic.

(does this mean I have a boyfriend now?)

As the credits rolled and the lights came up, it was time to sort things out with my brand new man.

I tapped him on the shoulder and smiled suggestively.

He turned to me, looking a little bewildered.

(oh what, the lights are on and suddenly you’re shy?  Silly you…)

I whispered something sexy in his ear, and that’s when he pushed me away, stating that he had a girlfriend (and that his brother was a police officer).

I stood there feeling 50% confused and 50% mortified.

Had I imagined the entire romance?

That’s when I felt the familiar circular move on my ankle.

My eyes darted downwards, where I found a foot protuding from under the seat.

(?)

I bent down cautiously, frightened and excited for what I would find.

It was…a troll.

(??)

Well either it was literally a troll, or I’m being very insulting to an unattractive “little person”.  Anyway he looked like this, and naturally I asked him what the hell he’d been doing groping my feet.

He explained that he’d been fired from the circus a few weeks prior (apparently the “bearded lady” is a bigger draw), and finding himself homeless, he’d taken up residence at the movies.  Living under the seats had been his greatest chance at survival (due to the variety of snack-scraps to feed on).  It had also been a while since he’d been with a woman, hence the active “foot play”.

I pondered his predicament.

I was sad that I didn’t have a brand new boyfriend, but pleased with his skills in the realm of romancing the foot.  Knowing that it might be a while ’till I find an actual man, I scrawled by number on his forearm.  After the 7th digit I ran out of room (he’s small), and completed my number on forearm #2.

And why did I give him the number?

Well I’m certainly not a charity-case (no you can’t live with me troll-boy), but if he’s feeling blue and he gives me a call (and if my own “foot-on-foot” play doesn’t cut it), maybe I’ll invite him over.

So like I said, I met someone.

Yup, a pretty good night…