It was the night of a big basketball game and me and the girls, were ready. Our hair prepped the night before on beds of bristle brush rollers and sticky hairnet. Fishnet stockings and platform shoes. At five feet nine inches I stood tall and would be a great date for the star centre a towering, Pistol Pete lookalike. Embellished by my mini skirt with slick black eyeliner and ghostly white shimmered lips I waited patiently at the end of the game shadowed, standing under the hoops. Eyes closed in anticipation of the kiss I felt a warm childlike breath wafting up my chest. A player could be a Herculean six feet ten inches or a Lilliputian five feet six inches. Memories of Billie Holiday singing My Man, swirled in my head. I felt dizzy with anticipation as he uttered. Hey Buttercup! Looking down below my chin was the runt of the team. a mere David child man, not the Goliath player I had wanted to embrace. We quickly dislodged our entwined bodies and agreed to be platonic friends. The big night was over and as the girls gathered I saw the star player drive away with the captain of the cheerleading team.