Little Miss Perfect

Dear Swing Enthusiast,

It really is a small world. After a particularly rigorous Charleston class, a fellow swing student ran up to me last night, because she recognized me from a past life. Actually, it was not really a past life, so much as… college. We had taken a particularly memorable art class together, during which I may or may not have threw a temper tantrum and stormed from the class while screaming at the professor, wading in a bucket of my own tears. As it slowly and dreadfully dawned on me who she was and why I must be so 100% memorable to her, I couldn’t help noticing how fantastic she looked. There she was- healthier, sexier, and more glowing than I remembered- bringing back memories of a deeply embarrassing, painful period of my early youth. I had no choice but to dub her “Little Miss Perfect.”

Of course, it turns out she’s officially enrolled in all of my swing classes. We went through the motions of exchanging numbers, offering artistic assistance (aka: showing off anything resembling status we’ve achieved in true high school reunion fashion), and pretending to be thrilled to see each other after all this time.

Of course, The Chief remains convinced I was shamelessly flirting with this girl for his benefit, as all lesbian cock-teases like to do, but, alas, that wasn’t the case…

Yet, in true Little Miss Perfect style, she did genuinely look thrilled to see me. After all, she initially ran up to me in what could definitely be described as a moment of enthusiastic discovery on her part. So, maybe the disingenuous social robotics were, in fact, completely one-sided, making me less and less perfect in the face of Little Miss Perfect’s magnanimous optimism and grace.

I wanted to set fire to her little, perfect, BLONDE head.

When I took a deep breath and acknowledged that the crazy, negative voices of jealousy were trying to take over, it suddenly occurred to me that The Chief might not be too far from the mark after all. Judging from our brief, casual history together and a few time-honored stereotypes completely devoid of fact (aka: GAYDAR), Little Miss Perfect could certainly be gay. Although I hesitate to say for sure if that was the case, just the thought of the now exponentially greater romantic possibilities and mishaps that might await me at swing left me dizzy. Genuine swingers meeting at swing- what a novel thought!

If nothing else, it was clear to me that Little Miss Perfect did not remember me as the immature basket case I thought she might. In fact, she seemed to remember me for what I was busting out of that classroom 5 years ago trying to be: a dignified human being. Maybe I wasn’t the only one who thought that professor was a dastardly prick! Maybe she actually saw how mistreated and powerless I felt back then. Maybe she was happy to have an opportunity to subtly let me know that she thought what I did took guts. Maybe her empathetic compassionate side outweighs her competitive judgmental side. Maybe she really is... perfect.

Or maybe she’s just another lonely, eager artist living in the city, happy to see a familiar face in a sea of swinging strangers. Someone not so different from me.

Time will only tell.

Sincerely,

Sara