You lock eyes with someone at a party and it 's _____ at first sight .

The moment I saw her was the moment I knew my life would never be the same. The way her hair gently bounced with each step; the way her eyes danced rhythmically around the room; the way her body seemed to jiggle like a pool of gelatin: She was perfection. 
 
 I don ’ t know what it was that first drew me to her, perhaps it was the way her scent seemed to waft gracefully through the party. It overpowered and replaced the carefully planned scent of candles with that of vomit and liquor. Or perhaps it was the literal force of her body ’ s gravitational pull that caused me to be stuck in orbit. Whatever it was, I could neither look nor get away, yet had no desire to do so. Her figure, it was absolutely divine. Round—or perhaps oblong; she looked more like that of an over-sized and over-fed beach ball than a mere morbidly obese woman. Her curve, the singular arc of her spherical body, was absolutely tantalizing. She was all I could see, figuratively and literally. 
 
 Perhaps what I found most appealing were the details of her divinity, the way she had been built. To say she was a breath of fresh air would be an over-statement; I have never seen, nor never again saw, something so unique and captivating as she. My eyes immediately fell upon her arm, a true focal point to her beauty. It was unlike any other girl ’ s at the party, in that it was a mahogany peg of wood. It seemed to have been sanded to a smoothness that simply glistened under the lights. She was waving it in the air and stammering incoherently, as if dancing for the very eyes of Aphrodite. 
 
 Her legs, similarly, bore no resemblance to any of the other of the clones at the party—in fact, it bore no resemblance to anything I had before seen. From my distance, they appeared similar to the flippers of a sea lion, but the kind you would expect to find attached to an ostrich. They were furry yet blubbery, a soft smack bouncing about the room with each unstable step she took. When she ’ d laugh, she would roll back on her voluptuous behind and clap her furry flippers together. The sound, it will never fade from my memory—the sheer insurmountable perfection it created! No song has since been as pleasing to me as that one, simple clap. 
 
 Maybe what I found most appealing of all, however, was the perfection of her face. It has forever danced through my dreams—night and day—teasing me with its unobtainable beauty. The way her lips curled up when she smiled, gums exposed that seemed to have entirely replaced the need for teeth. A thick tuft of hair sat delicately under her pointed nose, bristled and coated in a thin layer of crumbs and snot. A small sliver of vomit cascaded down the folds of her chins, evaporating in the brilliantly visible heat of her bosom. Her eyes glistened under the chandelier, shimmering like a starred night in a lightless desert, peering off in two different directions at once. I could not look away, fearful that my life would never again be graced with such elegance. 
 
 I never saw her again after that night, although I ’ ve constantly relived her every moment thereafter. Sometimes I lay alone in bed at night and stare at the ceiling, mind tossing out every possible outcome of her life. Did she marry? Where is she now? How many kids does she have? Is she happy? Yet perhaps the most common thought is whether she saw me. Whether she noticed me, for one fleeting moment, and saw me as something more than just a wisp of light in her eye. I wonder if I have had any effect on her life at all, or if she knows how drastically she changed my life. Sometimes I lay in bed and wonder if I even mattered to her at all. 

