More news from the front
So in the past couple of days I have made some grievous rookie mistakes. Saturday night I forgot that the UPN guy worked at this one bar and ended up pouring myself into there late in the evening, when my defenses were down. Actually, his presence at the bar didn't cramp my style at all - I think the vodka martinis were more to blame for that.
And Thursday night I was at a club and dancing with this guy, just because I like to dance - nothing serious there. I knew that was the case because when he asked me my name, I gave him my standard fake. When my gut reaction is to give someone the wrong name, that's a fairly good indication things won't be working out. And my standard fake name is easy to remember as it's my middle name. (To be honest, my real first name is old-fashioned and odd enough that some guys probably figure it's the fake.) But by the end of the evening, I'd forgotten that I'd given him my fake name, so when he asked me for my phone number, I ended up giving him the real one. He called a couple of times but didn't leave messages, since my voicemail gives my real name and he probably was thinking, what a bitch, she gave me the wrong number. I am a bitch, but for different reasons. O what a tangled web...
No great loss on that last one, though, because he was *doused* in cologne. Now, I love me a man who wears cologne. I truly do. I wear perfume every day, even when I don't wear makeup, and I wish more American guys would wear cologne. It's quite appealing to the senses. However. This guy was wearing so much cologne that dancing - chastely, I might add - with him had caused my clothes to absorb his scent, forcing Z-Ditty and me to roll down the windows on the ride home so we could breathe. Even worse was waking up the next morning and trying to figure out what that smell was. Yup, still reeking of cologne from the previous night. It reminded me of when I was in high school debate, the boys for some reason thought it quite debonair to swim in cologne before a conference. To this day, the smell of Drakkar Noir or Colors de Benetton take me back my high school daze.
And Thursday night I was at a club and dancing with this guy, just because I like to dance - nothing serious there. I knew that was the case because when he asked me my name, I gave him my standard fake. When my gut reaction is to give someone the wrong name, that's a fairly good indication things won't be working out. And my standard fake name is easy to remember as it's my middle name. (To be honest, my real first name is old-fashioned and odd enough that some guys probably figure it's the fake.) But by the end of the evening, I'd forgotten that I'd given him my fake name, so when he asked me for my phone number, I ended up giving him the real one. He called a couple of times but didn't leave messages, since my voicemail gives my real name and he probably was thinking, what a bitch, she gave me the wrong number. I am a bitch, but for different reasons. O what a tangled web...
No great loss on that last one, though, because he was *doused* in cologne. Now, I love me a man who wears cologne. I truly do. I wear perfume every day, even when I don't wear makeup, and I wish more American guys would wear cologne. It's quite appealing to the senses. However. This guy was wearing so much cologne that dancing - chastely, I might add - with him had caused my clothes to absorb his scent, forcing Z-Ditty and me to roll down the windows on the ride home so we could breathe. Even worse was waking up the next morning and trying to figure out what that smell was. Yup, still reeking of cologne from the previous night. It reminded me of when I was in high school debate, the boys for some reason thought it quite debonair to swim in cologne before a conference. To this day, the smell of Drakkar Noir or Colors de Benetton take me back my high school daze.
posted by Her Ladyship @ 5:02 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home