Waiting for my chance with the Hot Director

Another day, another man to act a fool in front of. I met Hot Director on a music video shoot I was styling for an awful country singer with a flippy salt and pepper haircut and classic dad goatee. 

The karaoke-esque artist almost kept my eyes from the true star of that studio: the director, or as we’ll call him, Hot Director. He had on black skinny jeans that said, “hey, I’m a professional filmmaker, but I still listen to Blink-182 on the way home,” a contrasting baseball-style tee, and a black baseball cap on backwards. The opposing styles were charmingly confusing, though I appreciated the little Oreo effect (I love Oreos). I wasn’t sure if he was into sports or punk music, so I had to assume both. He probably straightened his bangs right before throwing a dip in on his way to the field.

This led me to examine my own choice of ensemble. Oh no. I was wearing the yellow silk mini skirt, the one that always finds its way into my butt. Oh God no! It was on inside out! How was I supposed to style a video shoot when I couldn’t even put my own clothes on correctly? Totally cool, I’d sneak into the bathroom and just flip it right side out. But as I made my way, something stopped me. A voice. Almost angelic. “CUT!” That three-letter word might be the sexiest thing a man can say. I was mesmerized. I couldn’t leave and risk not hearing that again. I began to picture our life together: he’d direct the coolest videos, yell at the artist, while I stood next to him, arms crossed, suggesting better ideas for shots, then jump in when a shirt needed another clip. My boss calling to me interrupted my magical daydream. I was to go pick up a very specific coffee order and bring it back immediately. “But you can’t separate us now!” I wanted to say, “he was just starting to look my way!”

Instead, I bought the coffee, way too many to carry, with no stoppers to block them from splashing all over me in the car. Good thing I keep old McDonald’s napkins in my glove compartment, because they’re perfect for little drink stoppers. I marched back into the studio, drink holder full of coffee in hand, completely forgetting that I had shoved ripped up napkins into all of the mouth holes. They got a little soaked from the coffee due to my maniac driving to get back to Baseball Model, so one even fell into a drink spitball style. But I had bigger problems to worry about. I handed the drink carrier off behind me, to who I THINK was a band member, and like a dog to its master, returned to Hot Director’s side.

We finally wrapped up the video around 9 PM. Observing a hard-working, great looking man for twelve hours is hard work. It was hugs all around! 

I patiently waited for my turn with Hot Director. What would our first physical contact be like? How tightly should I hug? How long should I hold it? I should definitely avoid the friend pat I always give. Maybe a little rub would be okay, but not too much. There he was, walking towards me, smiling ear to ear. 

This was the big moment. 

I was swallowed in his baseball muscles for a whole two seconds, but as I blissfully pulled away, my long hair lingered just a little longer… in his facial hair. His scruff seemed to have a Velcro effect when mixed with my long, fine hair. As I backed away, I watched my hair stay attached to his face, and for a second, I imagined pulling back into him like a swing dance that we had done on purpose. But this wasn’t a dance, this was a weird moment in time that I wasn’t sure how to handle. Before I could make a creepy joke about how we were stuck together forever, I remembered my skirt was still on inside out and ran to the bathroom, wishing I had just worn a fucking ponytail.

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