Miguel had been a Golden Gloves middleweight champion about five years earlier. I met him when he was working for a moving company. He passed me several times in the hall of the apartment house I lived in, and I thought he was kind of cute.
The other guy who was working with him kept calling him “Champ” and I asked if that was his name. That’s when he told me he had been a boxer. We chatted a bit and it was pretty clear that he was interested in me.
He came to my apartment door after finishing moving a neighbor in to an apartment on my floor and asked me if I’d have dinner with him. I had a few reservations (no, more than a few) but I said sure! Pick me up at 7:00 p.m.? I’ve always like boldness and Miguel had that going for him. Plus, I mean, hey! The guy had a job! That’s always a good sign. (Uh, yes. I was hard up.)
Anyway, I didn’t take it as a good sign when 7:30 p.m. rolled around before Miguel arrived at my door. I said something about not being sure he was going to show up, and he replied that he needed to have a few drinks first to calm his nerves. Well, he was only weaving slightly when he came in.
He got into a boxer stance and started throwing play punches toward me, telling me to unwind! Loosen up! Let’s have fun! By this time, I was in a full-fledged panic attack. Dear God!
Miguel had looked great in working man’s clothes, with the big shoulders and biceps, etc. It had not translated that well into a suit that was way too tight across the shoulders with pants that can only be called “floods”. His slicked hair looked greasy and he was pretty sweaty in the face. Uh huh. Loosen up, Linda!
