The Little Black Dress

Roland Park is an interesting place.  It has baseball diamonds, a beach volleyball court, a playground whose size rivals some homes in the area, walking trails, and a full twenty seven hole frisbee golf course.  My friends and I frequent the park for the latter reason. Roland Park also has a gazebo and a manmade lake that sometimes, when the weather is nice, provides a backdrop for the occasional outdoor wedding.  The worlds of weddings and frisbees collide on the final hole of the course when the golfer has to throw across the lake.

We were playing there one summer afternoon and of course found ourselves playing alongside a wedding ceremony.  I, at this point, was topless, wearing my ‘Panama Jack’ Titleist golf hat and throwing my frisbee  across nervously across the lake.  Nervous because after the throw, we had to walk dangerously close to the wedding pictures that were being taken no more than twenty yards away and we would be in the background.  They would most certainly stop, notice us, share an uncomfortable moment with us and let us, nay endure us crossing.  To quell the awkwardness I spoke.

“Congratulations!” I exclaimed when the bride caught sight of me.  I found the groom amongst the crowd, pointed at him and offered him “my condolences.” This was followed by some chortle from the crowd.  One of the amused was this fantastic young lady who was one of the bridesmaids, and wearing a little black dress, a young lady whose pheromones were swept up in a breeze and shoved in my face. She was what I like to call “smokin’ hot.”

They went back to the photographs, and we played on, but I made sure to keep an eye on my little black dress.  They had progressed into the ‘candid’ picture part of the chore, and the photographer was asking them to jump and flail their arms in a jubilant fashion to show extreme enjoyment.  I watched them do this twice and after the second I hoped, maybe one could call it a prayer either way I thought in my mind a devious little thought of how nice it would be if, even just for a moment, that little black dress would lose control of itself and give me a little peek.  And on jump number three, my dream had came true and that bridesmaid gave me a beautiful mental photograph of just how exquisite  a healthy young lady is supposed to look.  It is an image that is with me to this day.  I alerted my friends to the possibility of it happening again, but jump number four was just like the first two.  That picture was mine, and mine only.

The three of us had finished playing and were back at our cars rambling about the game we just played; who won, who did what well, who did what wrong, etc. but all I could do was look in the direction of the wedding which was now starting to disperse.  I gave myself two options; let them disperse and never see the little black dress again, or I could go discuss it with somebody.  I marched across the open field watching the last group of stragglers watch me approach.    

“Excuse me, Hi.” I initiated.  The four people I found trying to get in their vehicle looked perturbed.  The women didn’t want to be approached, and the men did not want their women approached, but I pursued.  “Does anyone know the bridesmaids?”

“Which one?” I got an answer when they realized it was not them I was after.  The bridesmaids all had different hairstyles which made pointing out my little black dress easy.

“Kind of, why?” the woman inquired.

“Well I was wondering if she…” I was interrupted.

“Has a boyfriend?”  The group began to get restless and the background noise picked up. 

“Well, is she accepting applications?”  I countered.  The women began to take an interest in playing matchmaker, and the men grew jealous.  One of them chimed in with something irrelevant in hopes of admonishing my attempt.

“I think she’s bisexual.” He said.

“I pass no judgments on anyone before I meet them.”  I was not deterred.

One of the women took control of the situation as the time for them to depart was passing. “We’re all going to dinner right now, she’ll be there.  I can talk to her her.”   The car engine sounded and all but one of the car doors shut.

“But how…” I was interrupted again.

“Here’s my card (realtor).  Call me in a few days and I’ll let you know what I come up with.” My hope was now a possibility. 

I thanked her, bid them all a fond farewell and walked back to my car, ecstatic and totally over-hopeful.  I was overcome with a feeling, one that I feel a lot of in these situations; accomplishment.  I brushed fear aside, put myself in a very vulnerable position walked away with a hope, a hope of more romantic accomplishments to come.

I called the realtor a few days later and left a message.  After a few more days I realized that my theme had reared its ugly head and I never heard from her or the little black dress again.