I got skillz

I made a decision today to let Smiley Dog Park Guy see me see him back. I've been seeing him see me for the last couple weeks. Whenever I would let him see me seeing him see me we would make eye contact and he would smile. My super suave response would generally be to flash a return smile at light speed, turn away, and book it across the park to feed crows.

I'm told that this kind of behavior drives men crazy. The unattainable woman playing hard to get. Trust me, if this is happening, if I'm driving Smiley Dog Park Guy crazy, it's an accident. Fear is the only one driving anything around here. Swerving erratically and cutting deep grooves into the nice green dog park grass for me to trip over later when I'm trying to act casual.

Today was going to be different, though. Less casual. More direct. Pilot and I got ready for our run to the dog park. I put some effort into making myself look like something nice to look at. A little shiny stuff on my face. Cute beanie. Clean hair. Same damn running outfit I always wear but who cares because the pants are tight and my butt is big.
Pilot put on his best harness and shined the spikes on his collar.

We hit the pavement and worked up a nice dewy look along the route that took us to the Smiley Dog Park Guy dog park, where after twenty or so minutes of butt-sniffing and milling around, I bravely made a point of learning that Smiley Dog Park Guy's dog is named after a planet from my favorite Star Trek series. The two of us were on the brink of launching into one of those getting-to-know-you-by-getting-to-know-your-favorite-Star-Trek-character conversations when a very friendly (because Portlanders are always so very friendly), more-aged-than-middle woman invited herself into the conversation, derailing my plans for eventual one-on-one intimacy and pulling me into a three-way commandeered by Mrs. Friendly that somehow led us into a discussion about her vast experience hiking local Oregon hiking trails. Not wanting to feel left out, and wanting desperately to reveal the finer points of my personality to Smiley Dog Park Guy, I elegantly and eloquently asked if a trail in question was the one that had signs everywhere yelling at backpackers to pack out their poo because the trail is on a narrow ridge and too many people were pooing on it and leaving said poo in obvious places. It turned out that, yes, that was the trail in question, which in turn allowed me to say that, yes, I had been there, thus restoring my position as active participant in the conversation that Mrs. Friendly had stolen from me and my future husband.

Eventually the conversation waned, as conversations between strangers tend to do when none of the participants in the conversation are batshit crazy, and each of us found ourselves imparting our next steps for the evening, which included leaving the grounds of the dog park to head towards our respective homes.

Mrs. Friendly left first, leaving me alone with Smiley Dog Park Guy. Smiley Dog Park Guy looked at me and smiled. Told me which direction he was heading to head out, which was also the way that I would be heading if I truly was ready to head that way.
It was clearly an invitation.
An opportunity!
A chance to resume the one-on-one intimate get-to-know-you conversation with Smiley Dog Park Guy.

I wished him a good night, turned away, and booked it across the park to go feed crows.

_{All pictures and words copyright Anna Horvitz (me) and cannot be used without my consent.}