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.
Hold on, hold on. I know what you’re going to say. I’m not done.
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.
I’m confident in that beauty and grateful that my particular brand of magnificence only attracts people who looked past first impressions.
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.
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.
But it wouldn’t work this time. Not with this one. He was a lion, a hunter. He loves the chase.
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.
He came over like I knew he would to show me a trick. He was there, right there. Close enough to touch.
Gazelle mode activated.
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.
The chase was on.