Blinking At My Feet

About a month ago I got a call from a head-hunter.  It was one of those out-of-the-blue experiences. I felt a little like the freckled wallflower of a girl in the corner at the Junior High gym being asked to dance.

There was some swoony feeling of flattery from the impressive listing he made of my resume. The job sounded interesting. Under the right circumstances, it was a something I could imagine being good at.

So we danced a little. Me and this head-hunter. Somebody I had never met before. But he asked and I said OK. 

Three interviews later the music stopped. He gave me a polite wink, told me thank-you, and that I was lovely, and walked away with the noise. So I'm blinking at my feet and clearing my head a little to get reoriented.