I made certain that if we did [click], he would be moved to ask me out.
I remember exactly what I wore that night. Cream-colored two-piece linen dress suit with dark brown stitching trim around the collar and cuffs of the jacket. Deep brown blouse that made the stitching pop. The skirt was flared in such a way that it flounced when I walked, emphasizing my hips’ cadence. Stacked heeled cream colored pumps with a thin strap around the ankle, and matching brown stitching around the strap tied together the ensemble.
My hair was the same glorious, healthy, to-the-waist full, thick, wavy, unruly 1970s hair that every other girl had. The only difference in mine was perhaps the brilliant new-copper-penny highlights in an otherwise deep chestnut brown mane that caught and held the eye. Then there were my eyes. Always my eyes.