Gazelling

If I had to pick an animal to best describe myself, I’d probably say I was a Rhino—huge, right there in your face, but often overlooked because it’s gray and put together in a way you can’t quite make sense of, so it’s best not to stare too long.

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Hold on, hold on. I know what you’re going to say. I’m not done.

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Rhinos are more than just a hodge-podge of horns and armor. They’re loyal, courageous, protective, intelligent, and once you look passed the skin folds and humps, you find their intriguing—beautiful in their own right.

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I’m confident in that beauty and grateful that my particular brand of magnificence only attracts people who looked past first impressions.

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With that being said, imagine what a rhino impersonating a gazelle would look like.

See it? Yeah? Well, that’s me. I’m at the pool table, standing next to my date.

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It’d be all too easy for me to play dumb and beg for him to give me pointers. When he’d lean over and show me where to put the stick, I could pop my hip, look over my shoulder, bite my lip. I could lay it all out there. It’s what’d I’d normally do.

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But it wouldn’t work this time. Not with this one. He was a lion, a hunter. He loves the chase.

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Remember what I said about rhinos being smart? This is where that rhino impersonating a gazelle thing comes in.  I had to be the most enticing prey in the savanna, or bar, in this case.

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He came over like I knew he would to show me a trick. He was there, right there. Close enough to touch.

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Gazelle mode activated.

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I shot the ball and walked away leaving the space I’d been empty, save for my scent.

He caught it, met my eyes across the pool table, licked his lips.

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The chase was on.