Last night when I got home, Brianna was in the bathroom blow-drying her hair. I tried to talk over the dryer:
“Where are you going with all that spiffiness?”
I wasn’t thinking. “Dingo’s,” she answered. Duh. It was Thursday night. I should have known.
“Is this a date or can I tag along?”
“Sure, come on.”
I’m not normally the type to *want* to go to Ladies’ Night, but going with Brianna sounded fun, especially since Sara, Lauren, Tania, and Holly were going to meet us there.
When we walked in the door, I asked Brianna if she wanted something to drink, and went to the bar to order for us. While I was there, this leggy blonde comes up to me and asks me what I’m drinking. I’m so flabbergasted that I can’t even answer. The bartender asks me what I want. I say, “I need a margarita and a strawberry margarita.” The woman’s face falls a little. “Here with your girlfriend?” I think for a second. She’s not unattractive. It’s okay to say no. Before I can even answer, Leggy Blonde has her arm around my shoulder. Well! That answers that. “Actually, I am here with someone.” Her arm drops along with her jaw. I scurry off with my drinks into the dining room.
Two ‘ritas later, a Spanish woman comes over to our table and starts talking with us. She tells us that she’s from Madrid. I say, “well… that’s a hell of a commute.” She looks at me with glazed eyes. “I like you,” she slurs. Oh. How cute. Count Drunkula has a crush. But hey, I’m not stupid. Of course she can buy me a six dollar drink.
Since this has never happened before in my entire life, I don’t know the rules of drink buying etiquette. I didn’t realize that if someone offers to buy you a drink, you’re a little obligated to stand there and talk for a minute like you give a damn. Tania comes over and tells me that she’s taking Brianna and Sara out to her car to see her new puppy, and I lean in to her mouth on my ear. I turn to give her a big hug. She kisses my cheek. She got the signal. Hallelujah!
“Is that your girlfriend?” I take a deep breath. Surely Tania will forgive me. “Yeah, we’ve been together like, 5 years.” I take my drink and haul ass back to my turf.
I’m not used to this whole scene. In fact, it kind of creeps me out. But my self esteem *does* seem a little higher. I begin to think that it’s not so bad being picked up in bars, as long as it doesn’t go anywhere. It’s nice to be flirted with, good to be thought of as hot, and not that hard to think up fake phone numbers. I should have tried this a long time ago.
Running up other people’s bar tabs is fun. 🙂