The Day I Met Derek Hough

Every once in awhile in life, there are a few things you wish so hard for that by some twist of fate they end up coming true. A few days ago, I was sitting in my neighborhood East Village coffee shop being a cliche-writer-nerd when I looked up and saw him.

A Scandinavian viking Adonis. He breezed through the glass doors in all black Eric Northman garb and smiled at me. Motorcycle jacket, black jeans, black wayfarers, blonde hair cleanly disheveled. Except it wasn’t Skarsgaard, it was Derek Hough, TV dancing tycoon and heart-throb mirage.  

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What was Derek doing in New York? I thought. Is Dancing With The Stars still a thing because I only watched the Kirstie Alley season and god, I really loved when he got mad. The passion, the fire. Maybe he’s doing a theater run, I pondered, my thoughts racing. Now when I encounter celebrities, I get all reverse too cool. I just never want to bother them, or worse, have them think me a mere mortal, an every man of the masses with the same fawning groupie impulses. So I ignore them like I’m a high school senior and they’re a sophomore boy. It’s makes for the best “almost best stories that never happened”.

Like the other night, I was at the bar sitting next to Pete Holmes after my show and he very graciously said to me and a friend (THIS IS A DIRECT QUOTE), “want some of this tuna roll, I already had one” and all I said was, “no, thank you” with an inappropriate amount of earnestness. THAT’S ALL I SAID – to a comedian I really like – the entire time he was sitting next to me and talking to my friend about anything and everything. I didn’t tell him about how I listen to him talk for four hours every week or how I feel like we are best friends and have the same constant push-pull views about religion, love, booze, and kale…the self loathing. I even looked away like a total weirdo every time he tried to politely make eye contact. And he was so nice and friendly! Lame. But I digress, I’ve always had a top secret attraction to Derek Hough even though he checks a lot of the boxes in the “what I’m not attracted to in a guy ever” category. Mainly it’s the spray tans, too tight v-neck t-shirts, highlights, and lycra that throw me off. Or too much concern with his body, I don’t want to feel like a guy is constantly saying, “bitch, dont eat that” with his abs, ya know. According to my friends, I am a minority on this, but I find vanity in a man to be repugnant. Lady boner-killa. BUT NOT WITH DEREK YOU GUYS. WHAT A FORCE OF SEXINESS.

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Okay so anyways, my metrosexual exception strolls in and orders a black coffee. Cowboys have drank their coffee black through the ages so I’m already on board (I attribute this order to rugged sensibility instead of caloric calculation). And then as part of God’s cruel joke, the only table available in the entire place…is directly to my left. About three inches away from my own round table. He sits down and says, “Hello”. He was speaking to me directly, there was nothing I could do. “Hello, Derek”, I said with a maniacal calmness.

He looked at my computer screen, “Mindy Project huh? Do you write for it?”

“No, no. Not even close! It’s just a spec script. I’m nobody!”

And then as he took a sip of his black coffee, he reached up and touched the side of my cheek, looking directly at me with those piercing White Fang eyes, “Nonsense! I can see your soul and it’s beautiful and brave. I met Mindy once. She’s just as terrific as you’d think. It takes balls to try and write her show for her!”

“I’m not trying to write her show for her! I mean I am, kinda. I mean, thank you, Derek!”

“You’re welcome, my sweet. Do you dance?”

“I used to when I was little, but my mom took me out of it because she thought it would be unhealthy for my self image given my body type…”

“What a remarkable woman. Listen, how about you pack up your equipment and come on an adventure with me.”

I looked over both of my shoulders, trying to make sure he had in fact directed the question to me and not somebody else. And then in the lull before I could think of words to say, he leaned in and kissed me. I felt my toes tingle as I worried about my coffee breath, but then told myself it was okay because he was drinking black coffee which everyone knows cancels out iced coffee with milk and splenda breath. Normally, I would be worrying about other people seeing me kiss in public, but it felt like I was having a stroke. A pleasant one, my brain stopped completely and I died a little. Then he grabbed my hand and gently pulled me out of the coffee shop on to the Manhattan street.

“I’m only here for 24 hours, I need to spend it with you!”, he said with urgency as he looked down at me with all six feet two inches of his towering dancer physique.

“Yes! I will! I want to!” and then he twirled me in the air above his head. Without falling down or suffering serious back injury. I gasped with happiness. We made out on the street corner and laughed like we were in a Justin Timberlake rom com.

What followed is not suitable content for this blog and I apologize for that but this is neither the time nor the place for erotic fan fiction.

Please just know that way up there in the sky, someone is looking out for your deepest, darkest dreams. They can come true. Mine did.

***The author would like to take this time to mention that the above story was in fact just a dream. A dream that never happened. Except for the Pete Holmes part, that is unfortunately 100% true.

 

 

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