Me: F, 32, glasses, black sweater and jeans. I was in the balcony, row E.
You: M, 57, well tailored clothes, blonde hair. You were on the stage with a microphone.
You made eye contact when you brazenly exclaimed, “Hot tramp, I love you so!” I wasn’t sure if it was directed at me or the older woman with big hair in front of me until you confirmed the object of your gaze was “[your] little China girl.” Of course, from across the room and with the house lights down, how were you to know that I’m really Japanese and Hapa at that? Never mind, you had me intrigued.
I’m sorry I couldn’t join you in dance while wearing red shoes; the ushers didn’t seem to understand the situation. They refused to let me onto the main floor, even when you were obviously calling me a pretty thing. Oh well, that's what MC is for.
Thank you for the offer to be your queen. I’d love to quit my job.
Email me. I don’t know how to get to Suffragette City, so I need directions.