So there’s this hunky guy I was interested in.
I went to the bar he was at, grabbed a seat, and intended to do my best at flirting, which was awfully brave of me given that only three days earlier someone told me I SUCKED AT FLIRTING.
Per my usual, I fell back on chatting with another man, making casual conversation while I tried to work up the guts to do something flirtatious.
My evil plan was to wait until the end of the night and see if he’d bring me home with him.
Inelegant, overly subtle as it may be, that was my plan.
Not long after I sat down we were joined by another woman.
Pretty soon it dawned on me that she was there for the same reason I was.
To hook up with the hunky guy.
“Well, this is AWKWARD,” I thought to myself.
Just then a friend came up to me at the bar.
“Is he chasing you?” she asked.
“No. . .” I replied.
“Then let’s go. I’ll help you meet someone,” she offered.
I was stubborn, though.
My ever present optimism was shining through.
The evening progressed.
I started to feel crappy, like I was throwing myself after someone who totally lacked all knowledge of my value.
Ad that was when I got up off my bar stool make my goodbyes, and left the bar.
My pride was a little bit in tatters, my optimism was flagging, and my ego was a little bruised.
Nevertheless, I managed to leave.
Michelle – 1, Hunky Guy – 0.