Roses are Red, Your Dress Was Blue, My new favorite Color on You

Although she was a little frightened by what a romantic dinner could mean, thankfully it’s what she wanted. Unspoken, it’s what he wanted too. Preferably a dark restaurant, one with dull warm lights [Like the night they spent hours at a rooftop of a restaurant just talking and eating]. She still hasn’t told him exactly why. Well, he knows she dislikes bright lights.

She mentioned something about not wanting too much attention when she’s looking like that.  Looking like what? Like all kinds of grown and finely sexy. In perfect retaliation, he told her that her beauty made sure she got much attention even on her worst day. The glow on her face was brighter than the room as she blushed.

Then there was the dress!

There is something about a short dress on a mildly cold Kampala night. Then there is a whole other thing about her in a short dress on a mildly cold Kampala night.

In the presence of a genuine beauty in the perfect dress; a sight that one must thrive to earn, i stood that night.  Elegantly complimenting the look with her composure and grace, a precise fashionable balance was struck when she walked and he noticed the heels too.

As they walked out of the restaurant, her obvious beauty made him anxious. He did not know what reaction was polite enough, let alone appropriate. It was her night. Her special night. Tonight they’d be out celebrating her.

“… Your dress is blue, my new favorite color on you,” what “I” would eventually use to describe how magnificent “you” looked that night.

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