Call me naive. Call me sweet. Call me ignorant. Call me whatever you want. Last weekend was my soon-to-be-sister-in-law's bachelorette party. And it was a giant welcome to the big life.
Saturday night was one of those rare occasions that I let down my guard. Out at the bar with Jen and her friends, most of whom I'd only met in passing. I was afraid of how the night was going to go. When it comes to strangers, or near strangers, I often feel like an odd ball, and keep to myself. Maybe it was all the wine and gin I drank, but Chatty MacTalksALot was the girl at the bar, not regular Melissa.
I took advantage of my jovial attitude and flashed my pearly whites, made saucy comments to guys who eyed me up, and actually got into conversations with some. Usually with one of the other party girls with me, but sometimes by myself.
So there I am. There he is. And he's working hard to chat me up. Point scored for him, because he's hysterical. Then he decides it is time to list off what he wants in a woman. (Cause really, why wouldn't you tell a girl you just met this??) As he rattles on about this and that, he throws in there that she can't do drugs. He emphasized on it. I think to myself what a weirdo, how did the convo turn to this? And then I think that's nice, he doesn't want a girl who does drugs. Standards. Everyone needs standards.
Bachelorette party girl #3 wobbles over to the table. In a dramatic moment, she announces that her drunkeness just isn't doing it for her. The guy asks what she wants. Party girl says she wants a line.
AND THEN HE PULLS A LITTLE BAG OF COKE FROM HIS SOCK. Who does that????
Romeo and Juliette ready themselves for a line, and I walk away. I'm not that kind of kid. Is this regular practise in such a metropolis? Is that the big city glamour? I'd rather hole myself away in my apartment than hangout with a strungout junky who thinks it's ok to do a line, but not okay for their lady love to.
No thanks, Toronto. You better show me something more to win me over.