Last Friday, I met up with my friend Todd who I hadn’t seen since we graduated from college. A long time had passed, but I recognized him immediately when I walked into the bar. I joined him and his two friends Diana and David. We chatted and drank before heading to a wine event Tom was aware of. Todd and Diana were on a date. Strange that Todd had invited friends along, but that’s his deal.
This event was a wine-tasting for singles–old, unattractive singles! We were definitely the youngest ones there. We probably had them beat by about 20 years. Always one to make the best of any situation, I wagered a bet with David to solicit as many digits/business cards/contact info. as possible. I taunted him. I’m fairly skilled in this regard and I knew I would prevail. The game was on.
David said we should hang together for a while and scope out the scene. I laughed, ditched him, and moved in for my first kill. Done: one business card in the bag. The same geriatric geezer proceeded to introduce me to everyone in the bar who he knew. This was too easy! The floodgates had opened.
I did a status check on David. I was shocked. He was on the couch still conversing with the same person. “Hey Buddy,” I screamed telepathically, “the game is about sheer numbers!” I was less shocked that he was still talking to his first target, and more shocked about who he was talking to.
David came over later. Smugly, he says, “Not only did I get her number, she invited me to this party in Russian Hill.”
“David!” I gasped. “That MAN is a transvestite!!”
“Uhhh yeah…” He conceded, “I guess she does look a little manly.”
“A little? There’s nothing little about that MAN. Get with the program. OMIGOD, I can’t believe you!”
An object in motion stays in motion. By this point, I was lit up–glowing with the confidence of an overachiever and also a little bored with the continual wins. I’d already had plenty to drink and by the time my glass was half-full, I had some loser at my side, begging to buy my next glass.
‘Buzzed’ was an understatement. ‘Borderline sloppy’ was more like it.
The troops persevered. I taunted. “Hi, I’m Catherine. I’m looking for a sugar daddy because I’m too smart to be working this hard.” That always shocked them, but they ate it up. Maybe they found my blunt candor beguiling. Who wouldn’t? And I’m cute too.
The next morning, I wake up to my cell phone ringing obnoxiously, like a mosquito buzzing around ready for attack. I can’t believe I always give out my real number. My purse is bursting with business cards…there are napkins with phone numbers. Maybe one day, I’ll actually call. You know what guys? Don’t bet on it.