Written by, The Single Sinner
Following on from last week, the ‘thing’ we had planned didn’t happen. Without going into detail he preferred to spend time with 11 other useless men, shouting, screaming and then finally crying into his pint.
The world cup has been the bane of my life for the past three weeks and just because I don’t have a boyfriend it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t affect my life. Why do they insist on moving my soaps around just to show a football match, when isn’t even our own country playing? I’m all for patriotism but when it comes between me and Corrie, there comes a time to stop!
Anyway, me and Cam decided the only way to escape the football would be to go out Saturday night, drink copious amounts of alcohol and sleep all through Sunday in a midst of hangover from hell. After applying tit tape, although I have nothing to tape down, and applying another layer of pop pink lippy, we headed into town.
First stop was a new bar in town called ‘Brooklyn’, very down town New York, with cheap drinks and minus the pretentiousness that bars like this usually attract. We scanned the room for any potential victims, sorry guys, but it was filled with ageing men or over giddy student boys who seemed to get excited about two girls with any hint of a cleavage.
We sipped up and headed to the bar next door. Now this was like it, wall to wall of suitable men. Cam and I, although we have completely different looks, seem to attract the same sort of men. I think it’s my booty and her boobs, put us together and were the perfect pair. As we got into the swing of the heavy bass blasting out, we noticed a group of guys looking our way. So they were a little young looking, but hell, I’m 25 and a little too old to be picky!
They eventually came over to us and we all started chatting. One guy seemed to take a shine to me, Marley, and proceeded to tell me his life story until taking a breath to ask for my number. When I consume alcohol, my number suddenly becomes a free for all, so without hesitation I pressed the numbers into his key pad, cheekily saving it as ‘Sexy girl in bar’. We made our excuses and left for another drinking hole, leaving the group of guys watching our behinds as we sauntered off.
Now the night would have been great if I hadn’t taken my phone out of my bag to see 14 missed calls and two messages asking where I was. Obviously giving my number to Marley had been a massive mistake. I didn’t want to be rude so I text back to say we’d left and gone home, which should have stopped the madness there. Except no, the night carried on with call after call after call.
We’d only spoken for half an hour of my life so I doubt in that time he would have decided I was going to be his wife, so why did he feel the need to embarrass himself like this. In the end, after 27 missed calls, I blocked the number and decided maybe a new end of town was needed. Where had all the sane men gone?
All the sane men are either married or gay. And even then the married ones are fools and the gay ones are….well….gay! :0)
Try being 40 something and single, and then ask yourself that same question, in fact don’t ask yourself that, its too depressing to even contemplate!
When I go out, to bars, I’m lucky if I get served. When you get to my age you suddenly become invisible, no matter what your friends tell you and how scrubbed up you think you look!
The phone just rang then, it was a wrong number. I was polite to the guy,but only because he had a nice voice…:0)
Good luck in your quest Single Sinner. And remember, be nice to strangers, but only if they have a nice voice..:0)