growing in the goo

Tonight we went to the Times and there were TONS of people there. It was so crowded, no one could move, feet were stepped on (most importantly, my left foot), elbows were being thrown. Drinks spilled, people shouting. An absolute mecca to some.

So of course I was outside, trying to avoid it all, and in the meantime striking up a conversation with two guys sitting in the corner. I must have been dazzling, or one of them must have been desperate, because after we had to move back inside (the patio closed at 2) he began some hardcore flirting. Asking me to dance (I turned him down), complimenting me, asking enthusiastically about my rather unspecial shoes.

And lest you all think I was flashing my wares, so to speak, I was wearing flat shoes, a shortish jean skirt (but not indecent), a rather baggy sweater and a collared shirt underneath. Standing in front of the mirror while washing my hands, I realized that I was horribly overclothed. I definitely looked out of place and very nerdy.

After his overtures had been rejected, he noticed that I was standing in a tense position, with my arms crossed up in front of me (because I had just pushed a guy who had stepped on my foot, actually). So, he said, "You look like you could use a massage."

Me, mildly alarmed by this turn, said casually, "oh, I don't know if that would help." He replied "Of course it would!"

One might wonder how I would respond to that. I mean, hi, everyone loves a massage. Just not from random guys at bars.

So, in a flash of evil genius, I replied: "No, I don't know. What if I have deep-seated psychological issues that can't be cured by the sense of touch?"

Unfortunately the thought of deep-seated psychological issues didn't deter him, it just made him want to know more about my traumatic past. I ran off with the excuse that I wanted to "make the rounds," but unfortunately I had to run past him on my way out. He said that I couldn't leave because he still hadn't gotten my number, and me (summoning my courage and heartlessness) said, "No, I don't think it would work out...There's too much of an age difference." he didn't reply. So I babbled "I'm too immature!!"

(says the girl in the sweater and high collar)

And then I said that I'd definitely see him around, because we go to the bar all the time.

Note to self, must change bars.

Sigh.