Broken Wing(Man)
Okay, much to discuss. You have a new friend and you’ve been drinking a lot of beer lately. Those are two very positive things in my book. Well, maybe just the beer. And the positive stops there.
Call me cynical (and with good reason), but did you lose your innate sense of male-female interaction somewhere along the way when I wasn’t looking? You’re hanging out in bars and restaurants with a married man who is masquerading as your “wingman?” Pay attention! He’s only being your wingman until he gets up the nerve to hit on you and try to make you his girlfriend on the side. I was married, remember? And I’m not the only one. Married men are way more diabolical than you think they are. Married men deal in angst and openness and internal confusion, but the end result of their quest is no different than any single man on this planet. He wants to get into your pants, period. He’s not evil; he’s a bored house husband… And that will sit well with any man about as long as it takes for the fun single girl he’s with to chug that third beer with her “wingman.” I thought you were smarter than that. I know you’re smarter than that. Now, let’s move on.
I always thought “beer goggles” were exclusively part of the male domain. Apparently, I was wrong. Apparently, I never shared with you enough of this one particular beer goggle moment of mine to ward you off from this all too common mistake. I swear, she was Jennifer Aniston when I met her. I walked out of the club with my mind racing and my hand clutching her phone number as if it was a hundred dollar bill. Three days later, I rang her doorbell and was greeted by Shrek. I’m not talking about her looks. She was still cute, though not at the level I remembered. But from the first moment she opened her mouth to speak, I wished the floor would open up and suck me in. Being the gentleman I am, the date still lasted the duration of the evening. It was the longest four hours of my life. If there was a Guinness world record for fastest goodnight, it would be mine. There’s no shame in making this mistake – once.
On the other hand, could I be more embarrassed to be a man than I am with your recent date story? How many ways can we spell “douchebag?” Let’s count down the errors of his ways:
1. He changed the Saturday night date to “coffee”
2. He was late
3. He showed up in a bathing suit… Are you serious? I’m no rulebook guy, but who the hell does that?
4. He smoked weed
5. He admitted he smoked weed
6. You were happy to take a bath instead
As for what your friend said about your “picker,” I’m equally as worried. Maybe you’re too smart for the room. Maybe you’re too smart for the men in the room. Maybe you’re too much man for the men in the room.
And it’s definitely time for another wingman.
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Winging It
It’s been said that the best wingman for a single girl is a cute married man. Lucky for me, one just moved in next door. His wife works a lot, he’s a house husband, and I work from home… You know where this is going.
I’ve been drinking a lot of beer lately.
The wingman theory was tested and proven when we went to a bar and I was hit on more that night than in the entire last year. Everywhere I looked, I was being looked at. And alert the media, I actually gave out my phone number to someone.
That was my first mistake.
He seemed nice enough at the time, but then again, I think this is where the term, “beer goggles” came to exist. I remember thinking he was nice. I remember thinking he was handsome, and I remember thinking he was somewhat intelligent. Don’t they say memory is the first to go?
He called three days later. I didn’t know the “3-day rule” was still in play, but okay. We chatted for a bit – he still seemed nice. He still seemed somewhat intelligent, and I was hoping memory didn’t fail me on the looks. We made a date, and he checked back in a few times before, which was impressive. So far – so good.
Day of the date arrives. For some reason it ended up being an extraordinarily busy Saturday, and part of me wanted to cancel. I should have followed my gut. 8pm rolled around, and he called and changed our date to coffee, saying he had been “drinking in the sun all day” and needed something mellow. Fingers crossed, I happily offered to reschedule, but he wasn’t having it. “No, I really want to see you,” he said.
I should have followed my gut.
So I head to the coffee place, and he was nowhere to be found. I got myself a cup of coffee (at 9pm) and in he walked. The “drinking in the sun all day” was obvious – he was still in his swim trunks. I would even go so far as to say he still had sunblock on his body – the smell and the oily appearance was a dead giveaway. Oh and the first words out of his mouth? “I just smoked the BEST weed in my car!”
Okay, so I’m not a prude in the least, but really? You couldn’t have waited until after? I know I should have walked out just then, but I didn’t want to be rude (funny, huh?) so I sat with him. Over the next 20 minutes I actually watched the pot take effect. He got higher by the minute. I finished my coffee and politely said, “Okay, so I’m going to go.” He looked confused (duh) and said, (in my best Spicoli imitation) “Ohhhh, coooool… Ohhhkkkkaaayyy.”
Happily, I was in the tub and tucked in bed by 10pm. So at the end of the day, I got my wish.
One of my friends says my “picker” is broken. But how do I fix it? And how is it MY picker that’s the problem? I had no idea this guy would show up in his swim trunks and smoke a bowl in the parking lot. He did everything right leading up to the date. Usually I can’t even get them to call on a regular basis.
Is it time to give up yet? Guess I should ask my wingman.
