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Uninspired for the second day, I turned to my Writer’s Toolbox for a writing prompt.  I was given the first sentence, the twist and the final phrase.  Here is where all that took me:

I was dressed in a completely inappropriate shade of pink.  From the scarf around my neck, all the way down to the polish on my toenails, I had chosen wrongly, as usual.

The crowd was a field of black and white.  Men in black tuxedos, women in black satin or velvet and some in white chiffon, all turned to look as I entered the room.  I know something classical was playing in the room, but what I heard in my head was the abrupt sound of a needle scratching a record from the center all the way to the rim.

Across the room, I saw him.  Tall and with his black hair neatly combed, I recognized him by the white rose in his lapel.  You would have thought he might have clued me in when I mention he could recognize me by my pink dress.  Oh well, I decided, the only solution was to seduce him so he would forget about my atrocious fashion faux pas.  Anyway, who sets up a blind date in a room full of men wearing the same tux?

I floated across the terrazzo tile floor as a black and white sea parted before me.  “Don’t trip, don’t trip,” was the mantra running through my head.  I looked up into his deep blue eyes,

“Hello, ” I said. “I’m Lyla.”

“I know,” he said with a smile.

Or was it a smirk?

“I’m Mark, and might I say, you are definitely the most colorful woman in the room.”

“Uh yeah,” I said with a roll of my eyes, ” I guess I didn’t get the memo.”

“Well, I kind of like being the guy with the most colorful woman in the room.”

“Oh,” I replied and then spent some time staring at my shoes.

“Shall we dance?” he asked as he took my hand and led me to the dance floor.

The rest of the night was a blur.  Seriously, I lost a contact on the dance floor and things were blurry all night.  But, we danced and talked and the pinkest girl in the room had a great time.  We shared a cab home and in one brave moment, I invited Mark up to my place for one last drink.

“Make yourself comfortable,” I said, as I twirled into the kitchen for a bottle of wine.  I assembled the necessary glasses and wine opener and then peeked back around the corner into the living room to make sure he hadn’t escaped.  There he sat on the sofa in his white button down shirt and loosened black tie.  He had respectfully left his shoes at the door and then I knew it was meant to be.  The most colorful girl in the room met her perfect match, the handsome blind date with a hole in his sock.

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