Monday, August 27, 2007

Two Faced

My friends tell me I look like a sweet girl. A nice girl. So I often wonder what is it that makes me look like a sotty bitch instead. One who gets approached by a certain type of guy at the bar...

Picture it. Erin and I head to the classy bar in town (ahem, there are only a few in this city), as our last weekend before we each move. And as planned, we got all dressed up. Well, she wore a dress, I wore sassy long shorts and sleeveless/backless top. Me and a dress and booze--not happening unless it's a wedding. So there we were, all pretty and shit, sipping on our cosmo's, laughing at each other as we delve deep into a conversation of our sexual experiences. When who should walk over and seat himself at our table?

Mr. Nice Looking (notice...not good looking).

He says: Don't mind me, I just want to sit for a few minutes. If you want someone else to sit at your table, just tell me to get lost.

And then he looks around the room, literally ignoring us. How bizarre. Erin and I stare at each other with WTF looks on our faces. Can't really carry on our conversation, so we start to ask him a few things, thinking perhaps he's lost his nerve so we'll just be nice to him.

He doesn't really say much, yes and no answers. Perhaps he really did just want a seat. Ok. Then he asks what we are drinking, so we tell him. He thinks for a minute. He asks where our boyfriends are. We laugh, say our boyfriends were busy tonight. (We do not have boyfriends.)

He says: So what, you girls just out here looking for rich guys to buy you drinks and then take you out in their fancy cars?

Pretty much my chin hit the table. The waitress arrived at the perfect time because after that comment, I needed another drink.

And then he gets up and leaves. What the hell was that??????????????????

Do I look like a sotty bitch to you?

(That's me and Erin, in our apartment, pre-Mr Wanker.)

On the plus side, we left the classy bar, and went down to my fav pub, The Brass Door, which is just a little this side of sketch. True, we stood out like sore thumbs in our fancy clothes, but Jim McGuinly was singing his songs and strumming his guitar, and the bartenders know my preference for gin & tonic, Bombay, please. But best of all, my favourite hole in the wall draws a crowd of people without much pretense. Just a great, general crowd of people having a great time. No one there makes me feel like a sotty bitch, just the nice kid I am. Ahhh...I'll miss that bar.

Farewell, L-town.

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